Why Don't He Write?

I once (kind of distractedly) asked a girl if she ever dreamed about being a hero.

She said, "Sure."

My scattered brain immediately snapped into focus on her.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think everyone probably does."

I remember being pretty confused. I associated my hero fantasies with having been a pretty self-conscious, introverted kid who--if my parents had allowed--would have buried himself in books and movies for... eternity.

My escapist characteristics left me wanting to relate to people the way the heroes of those stories related to people. Heroes who, though seemingly reluctant to fight, always ended up doing it... and kicking serious butt.

Sometimes when--okay everytime-- I ventured out into reality I'd let my mind wander into some of the fantastic scenarios that "could" happen from wherever I happened to be, as though adventure followed me around (in one series of Sci-Fi/Fantasy books I read, this was called being "T'averin" meaning (in the language of this book's world) that fate shaped itself around you, instead of how most people were shaped by fate). I would wander through the mall and think in "what ifs": Terrorists are about to stage a total lock-down of the mall! And their plan is perfect... except for underestimating a certain, seventh grade, self-taught martial arts expert.
Of course that didn't stop at seventh grade... or ever really. And I think I was pretty close to being out of high-school when this particular conversation came up.

"Wait, you fantasize about 'saving the day'?" My palms were getting sweaty... I didn't buy her line about "probably everybody does" so I was thinking I might have stumbled onto something special... had I found her? the girl who wasn't going to be too practical to get caught up in adventures with--

"Yeah, sometimes I think about solving world hunger... or finding the cure for cancer... "

"Oh."

I remember feeling pretty silly. Her fantasies were so noble, and mine were so... B-Film.

But I wasn't disappointed, though. I mean... obviously I didn't run off with this girl to kick terrorist butt and... feed babies, but I think I learned something pretty fascinating that day (and no, it wasn't that I was a potential "heroine" addict).

I learned something about what men are and what women are. I'm typing in generalities, so yes, there are exceptions but what I learned that day, in a nutshell, is that both men and women have it in them to protect each other... but it means different things to each of them.

My fantasies of heroism involved fighting and destroying evil (for the sake of protecting the innocent (and the less martial-artfully advanced)).
Her fantasies of heroinism didn't involve fighting anything (well, let's not go into the metaphorical fight against disease, hunger, etc...) but involved nurturing and developing life.

I like women, I'll have to get me one of 'em some day.

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I apologize for taking so long to write... but I'm thrilled I have to apologize for it... if nobody read this, nobody'd care one way or another.

Did you ever see the movie "Dances With Wolves"? Do you remember the part where they're driving the wagon through the desert and they come upon a skeleton and the guy driving the wagon says to Kevin Costner's character, "Someone back home's sayin' 'Why don't he write?'"

I always thought that was pretty funny (my mother always assured me it wasn't).

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I don't think all of this is what I thought I was going to blog about tonight, but it's too long and too late now.