My son had a project this week regarding courage. His task was to bring something to school that, to him, signified courage. He and my wife scoured the Internet, read books, and taxed their brains for something that struck his fancy. Harriet Tubman’s name was mentioned, as was a book entitled “ Follow the drinking gourd“, both very fitting for this particular project.

My son’s teacher sent home a little sheet with a few simple instructions:

1) Bring something that signifies “Courage” to you.

2) Explain why this object means “Courage” to you.

That was the last I heard of this project until this morning.

On the way to school I asked my son if he had completed his project, and if he had all the items he needed with him. Out of curiosity I also wanted to know which topic, or person, he finally chose. He said “I decided to do something different Daddy. I’m taking a picture of you when you were in the military.”

I got a little misty, and my chest swelled with pride. My son had chosen me over all other bastions of courage, regardless of how much more fitting it would have been had he chosen any of them. I dropped him off at school, waved goodbye, and went off to work with my head in the clouds.

After school I picked him up. “Got everything?” I asked, as he jumped in the truck.

“Nope! My teacher wants to keep your picture, and my paper about you, on the bulletin board until next week.” (More chest swelling)

Worriedly, I said “Make sure we get that picture back eventually son! It is the only one I have.”

“I will Dad. My teacher said she would return it after we learn about fossils next week.” (insert sound of chest deflation here)

I know that it wasn’t meant that way, but damn if that didn’t bring me back down to earth quickly for some force fed humility.