My best friend’s father was a hero.
I’ve never seen him walk.
And never heard him talk.
The stories about him make me wonder whether or not there are bigger heroes.
One morning he left, dressed in suit and heading towards the car.
He swerved here and there until he got to his job.
Where he worked hard to get in and harder to get people out.
He never came home after that big day.
Although my friend and I suffered greatly we were both proud to be American and proud of those heroes that gave their lives for us.
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