Over the years I’ve known plenty of people who wanted to live ‘big’ lives. Earn a million dollars before they turned 30, run a market leading company, play for Australia, save lives, be a rock star and – common enough among writers – be on the best seller list.
Then there are my parents.
My parents are not famous. They are not even know to a big circle of people, and ‘small’ is probably the only way to describe they life they lead.
What awes and inspires me about their lives is the way they do good. Tangible, solid good which changes the lives of people around them. Whether it’s stopping to help a lost child, or inviting a depressed neighbour in for a chat, these small acts bring comfort and, not infrequently, happy outcomes for people in need of a hand.
My folks are not interfering or nosey, but they are practical, sensible people who can direct others to sources of information or support. And it’s amazing what a cuppa and some conversation can do to cheer up the bereaved or the frightened.
As I write tales of grand exploits and dramatic escapes, I sometimes feel that I’m not honouring the best kind of heroes – the good people, living good lives.