Rest!

No! 

what is that?

More unfamiliar a word

Cannot be found-

 

Never is she 

To be caught-

For there are things to be done!

 

Sweat beads on her brow-

If only she finishes this one last 

Paper,

Presentation,

Board meeting,

-then,

 

Then she can-

Rest!

Is out of the question-

Like her husband’s Saturdays spent

Without football;

 

Tired days line up-

One, 

after, 

another,

 

eyelids strain- 

her arthritis flares up… again-

mouth so dry

that desert sands wallow

in jealousy.

 

But rest?

She will not!

I asked what changes should be made to the first half of my narrative in my peer review, so I made sure to spend extra time correcting what they recommended. My editors said that the family line was a little confusing, especially regarding if my grandma was on my mom’s or dad’s side. I made sure to explicitly say which side she was on, hopefully adding the desired clarity. They also said that some of the names of Puerto Rican dishes were unfamiliar to them, so I made sure to translate or at least compare them to their “American” versions. Hopefully these edits were able to add clarity and let the reader relate to the story more. 

 

 

            My grandma on my dad’s side was a first-generation immigrant to the United States from Puerto Rico. She came with her 8 other siblings and her mother. Having come from Puerto Rico, my grandma and her family cooked very different food than what a typical American would. Since then, my grandma has passed but her only living sister lives in New York. 

            When my grandma was alive, I loved to watch her cook and every Sunday evening I would attempt to help as much as I could as a toddler. Food has always been a central theme in our family gatherings. However, most of our gatherings are on my mom’s side because many of them live close to us. This meant that we rarely got an opportunity to see our family from my dad’s side, since they all lived so far away. 

            However, I do remember one time when we went to New York for Thanksgiving. Typically, we always hosted Thanksgiving dinner at our house and had set-in-stone traditions that I was accustomed to. I was curious and unsure of what Thanksgiving with my Puerto Rican family might be like. 

            When we arrived, my aunt was already cooking up a storm and the entire house smelled incredible. I remember that even to my 8-year-old brain, I could tell that this was special. Of course, I wanted to help as much as I could in the kitchen, only periodically pausing to play with their three cats.

            While we were cooking, my aunt made tostones for us to snack on while we cooked. These the plantain chips that they make in Puerto Rico; worlds above the taste of the mass-marketed plantain chips sold in the store. This was my first memory of having tostones, and it did not disappoint. I battled my dad for control over the plate of tostones and although I was not successful, I felt I had given a valiant effort.  

Tostones were gobbled down, we cooked arroz con pollo and frijoles, which translates to rice with chicken and beans. These dishes however, take hours to make compared to the more American chicken and rice and beans that I was familiar with before. Meanwhile, the more traditional gravy and turkey hogged all of the oven space. As we cooked the aroma of a Puerto Rican kitchen danced with that of the ultra-American turkey and gravy in the air, the scents clashing, but in a good way. 

Soon, our other family began to arrive. Although I had never met them before, I was soon racing up and down the stair with my new-found friends. The adults meandered between the kitchen and the family room, sipping on cocktails and wolfing down the last of the tostones. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but looking back, our ability to meld together with never-before-met cousins, was truly magical. 

After no time, dinner was ready, and we attempted to bend the rules of physics to fit all of the food on the table. As food was passed around, plates were piled up with a fusion of Puerto Rican, New York, Tucsonan delicacies. I have had some amazing Thanksgiving dinners, but to this day, I have never had such an incredible Thanksgiving experience. The blending of our family from all across the country compounded on our creole Thanksgiving dinner, was an experience I hoxpe to never forget. 

Soon Zoorg rounded the corner and skidded to a halt at his front door. He jumped up to grab the handle and hung from it as the unlocked door swung open. Once inside, he flew around the corner into the kitchen and threw his apron back on, simultaneously throwing his bag onto the floating countertop, door still agape.

“Zoorg, is that you?” called a shrill voice from somewhere down the hallway.

“Yes mother!” Zoorg yelled back, focusing on taking deep breaths as he was just discovering that his blueberries had in fact, not survived the fall. As Zoorg proceeded to throw his shoes against the wall in rage, Roosa Blenderberry had made her way to the kitchen.

“Zoorg stop that!” she asserted, unphased. She was well aware of Zoorg’s severe anger issues, but had other, more pressing things on her mind. “Mario stopped by earlier, he wanted to talk to you about something. Oh gosh what was it? I believe something about a lead of some sort. I always thought he was rather odd, but I truly cannot imagine what he could be talking about.”

Zoorg paused and looked up from his squished blueberries, “What! He has a lead?” He glanced despairingly back at his blueberries before tearing off his apron, pushing by his bewildered mother, and running back out the front door. Roosa shook her head passively as she pulled the door closed, just another normal Tuesday.    

The Plutonian sky had shifted to a warm green tone, signaling the evening’s approach, as Zoorg arrived at his bestfriend’s house. Mario greeted him at the door mere seconds after Zoorg had arrived, a giddy smile plastered to his 10-foot-tall frame. Mario was Zoorg’s best, and only friend. They had been friends since birth and had been baking pies together since they were tots. Fortunately for Mario, he had been blessed with a speedy metabolism, a gift that Zoorg clearly lacked.

“You’ll never guess what I found!” Mario exclaimed excitedly.

“Yah, probably not, so why don’t you just tell me,” Zoorg whined back.

“I’m going to have to show you instead; you wouldn’t believe me if I just told you.”

In an instant, Mario had taken off in the direction of the bakery, Zoorg chased after, desperate to catch up to his enormous friend. As he ran, Zoorg began thinking about his trifles with the world. Zoorg was often a jealous creature, and Mario’s average Plutonian height was no exception. Zoorg, already an outcast, viewed his surrounding, tall world from a 3’11” perspective. He was constantly dodging the feet of his fellow Plutonians. Zoorg always questioned how his 13’3” father had left him with his unfortunate height.

Zoorg shook his head as he continued his run behind Mario, trying not to fall too far behind. He despised thinking about his father, a terrible man in his eyes. Unfortunately for Zoorg, his father was beloved by the entire Plutonian community. Zoorg was unable to comprehend how someone so cruel could be so loved. Although Zoorg doubted that he knew much about love, he knew that he hated his father. Not even Roosa shared the same hatred towards him, even though he was her ex-husband, having left her to be with the raspberry pie maker, Scrunge.

Scrunge was regarded with god-status by the Plutonians. She was the creator of their life source, and they idolized her. Noorg and Scrunge had been together for about 10 years, and the memories Zoorg lacked with his father made him even more frustrated. All of this said, Zoorg had to admit that the two were seemingly perfect for each other. He couldn’t help but wondered what it would have been like to grow up with his father around. He longed to have learned to tie his shoes or ride a bike, but that was never going to happen and Zoorg had accepted that. He had found his true calling on his own anyway, and he wanted to put all his energy towards it.

It all started with Zoorg’s discovery of blueberry pie at an early age. Without a father figure in his life, blueberry pies provided Zoorg with a warmth like no other. He soon became obsessed with the delicious bakery item. The issue was that Pluto was known galaxy-wide for its raspberry pie interior. The planet was completely made up of the substance, a delicacy that brought in tourists from planets far and wide. When walking in the streets of Pluto, there was no place in which you could not access the sweet, ever-warm raspberry pie. There was one food group on Pluto: raspberry pie. However, Zoorg could not stand the pie. This led to an unseen amount of problems. He was ostracized from the community and didn’t have an easily accessible food source.

It was not long before Zoorg was traveling across town every day in order to collect blueberries from the grove to feed cravings. His addiction soon grew, and his mother quickly gave up hope of ever breaking her son’s habit. Zoorg didn’t mind the effort that he expended because to him, there was truly no other worthy way to spend his time. He did not mind his outcast-status very much, as long as he was able to have his pies, he was content.

However, what most people were not aware of, was that Zoorg had a theory…

He believed that Pluto was in fact made of blueberry pie instead of raspberry. If this theory was leaked to the community, Zoorg would surely be kicked off the planet. The allegiance to raspberry pie was unbreakable and unitary across the entire planet. Nonetheless, there was one person Zoorg had trusted enough to be let in on his theory, and that was Mario. Mario had reacted with unexpected calmness, only saying ‘Woah, that would be crazy,’ and ever since then he had been assisting Zoorg with his search for the proof he needed to validate his theory.

One might believe that it was as simple as taking a shovel to the ground, but it was illegal to the worst degree to harm the planet’s surface in any way, a decree made by Scrunge herself. Zoorg had heard too many horror stories about the unfortunate few who had decided to test authority, second hand of course, as none of those people lived to tell the stories themselves. He could never risk digging, but he was determined to find another way to prove to himself and to the rest of the Plutonians the true colors of the planet.

 

---

 

        They had reached Mario’s destination, and Mario was standing over something on the ground. Zoorg approached cautiously, almost afraid of what he might see. Slowly, he peered down to look at the small cluster on the ground. His jaw dropped, he looked at Mario, and then back at the ground. Never had he thought that he would actually be successful in his mission, but this, this was game changing for him.

        “Should we keep it?” Mario asked excitedly.

        “Are you crazy? If someone caught us with this, we’d be goners,” Zoorg answered. “Let’s leave it, no one ever comes out this far anyway. I just… I-”

        As he was talking, he heard a faint, but familiar whiring sound above them. Cameras. Pluto’s advances in technology were sometimes more of a curse than a blessing. Both boys’ faces dropped. With one look at each other they broke into a full sprint. Neither talked, because both understood the consequences that would be dealt out if they were to be discovered. They continued on running until they nodded to each other, splitting in opposite directions toward their houses, night finally falling on the city.

 

---

 

        On the other side of town, the sound of pacing echoed in the dimly lit bakery.

        “How could you let this happen! This could ruin everything!” Scrunge yelled to a folded figure who sat on the floor.

        As he lifted his head from his hands, Noorg could only look up despairingly to the rage-filled face of his wife. “Sweetie pie, I never meant for this to happen! He’s just a kid, no one would believe him anyway!”

        He threw himself out of the way as Scrunge sent her chair barreling toward him. They were the perfect couple on the outside, but everyone has their rough spots.

        “You know that we have to get rid of him now. That dimwit friend of his can’t hurt us, but Zoorg, he has to go. You want this too, we cannot have him ruin all of our hard work!” Scrunge was very convincing, and there had never been a time where she had failed to get her way.

        With a sigh, Noorg nodded his head and began preparing. They had prepared for years in case of this, but he had never imagined it would be necessary. Using his extremely vast knowledge of technology, he had worked tirelessly, with Scrunge’s encouragement of course, finding ways to weaponize the pies that they made.  Some might believe that this was unnecessary, but they had done all of this for a reason.

        Scrunge and Noorg held a secret unknown to any other Plutonian. They had worked incessantly to protect it and to govern the Plutonians in the ways that would most benefit them. Scrunge was born allergic to blueberries, a secret that she planned to take to the grave. However, as the descendant of Pluto’s founder, she knew the truth that lied beneath Pluto’s surface… the itchy, throat-closing truth. She could not live as an outcast, never being able to eat blueberry pies, so she had devoted her life to the pursuit of raspberry pie supremacy. When Noorg met her, he knew that he would do anything to make sure that she was happy.

        Noorg thought about his son as he prepared the PiExterminator, a creation he had worked on for the past decade. He sighed as he thought about what he was truly doing. Noorg looked over to Scrunge who was re-watching the video of Zoorg and Mario discovering his mistake. He smiled, he was doing this for a good cause, for Scrunge, and for Plutonians planetwide.

        The hardest part of their extermination plan was the obtaining of Zoorg, for he was always making pies, and they needed him to come to the bakery in order for the plan to work. They would figure it out, they always did.

---

 

        The next morning Zoorg rolled out of bed and stretched. He smiled at the dawn sky, looking forward to his daily trip to collect blueberries. He skipped through the walk-through shower and raised his arms as the machine slid a shirt over his round figure. With still untied shoes, he ran through the front door eager to collect his blueberries. As he neared the grove, something caught his eye. A haphazardly drawn sign was hanging on the bakery door. He slowed to a jog and walked over to investigate. Soon he realized why the sign had enticed him so much, his eyes subconsciously recognizing the image of a blueberry pie with the words: ‘free pie- today only!’ There was no question in Zoorg’s not-too-bright mind, he had to get some pie. “The bakery never sells blueberry pie! What an amazing coincidence!” he thought to himself excitedly.

        Zoorg entered the shadowy room, the buzz of the refrigerator cases welcoming him. He wondered why the lights had been left off today but didn’t give it much thought. All of a sudden, he felt a pair of hands grab his shoulders and lift him up off the floor. Before he could yell protests, he recognized the face of his extraordinarily tall captor, although he didn’t want to believe it.

        Noorg carried his son across the bakery, untied shoelaces hitting his legs as Zoorg’s body swung to-and-fro in the air. Truth be told, Noorg was surprised at how indifferent he felt towards what he was planning to do to his only son.

        Soon Noorg was strapping his bewildered son into the PiExterminator and Scrunge had emerged from her hiding spot, a smirk spread across her lips.

        “So Zoorg, you must be curious as to why you’re being strapped to a flying pie, yes?” Scrunge asked slyly.

        “Yes, I am,” Zoorg replied calmly. -Almost too calmly?

        “You got too close Zoorg, too close.”

        “Too close to what exactly?” Zoorg asked, relaxing back as his father continued securing him to the enormous slice of pie.

        “Well, you found out our little secret, and we can’t have that getting out to the public, now can we?” Scrunge was slightly irritated at Zoorg’s calmness given that his impending death was reaching closer and closer by the second.

        “Ah, I knew it! Well, I understand that I can’t be kept around anymore, it makes sense. At least I enjoyed my time in life,” Zoorg looked almost as sly as Scrunge, but she could not figure out why.  

        “That’s it? You’re not going to fight back?” Scrunge asked getting more and more frustrated.

        “There’s really no point, you’re going to get rid of me regardless,” Zoorg said pointedly.

        “Fine, Noorg, we have no more use for him, and since he refuses to give us a show, just launch it.”

        With that, Scrunge backed away slowly, and looked on smugly as Noorg flipped a series of switches and buttons on a control panel hidden under a strategically-placed pie tin. He took one last look over his shoulder to his son, noting how incredibly short he was, before turning back and calmly pressing the launch button.

        The ground shook as the pie lifted off the floor and burst through ceiling, and Zoorg made a small waving motion to them before the pie lurched forward into the depths of space. It hurdled towards Earth, a planet Zoorg had heard incredible stories about. He smiled to himself.

        “I will not miss this place,” he said to himself contently.

        Everyone always believed that Zoorg was simple-minded, that he didn’t pay enough attention. But none of them could have predicted Zoorg’s plan, for he aimed to invade Earth and create his own planet of blueberry-pie-worshiping Earthlings. He wanted to improve the lives of the Earthlings, and the one way he knew how to, was through the consumption of blueberry pies. He hoped that the Earthlings were also rather short because he did not want to spend the rest of his life dodging feet like on Pluto.

        “Wait! Do Earthlings have velcro,” Zoorg wondered allowed in fascination.

        As he neared Earth, he was eager to begin his plan, one that he had been working on since the day his father left him. His conniving smile was still plastered across his face when something that he could never have predicted happened. Unfortunately, he had been unaware of the cox satellites in Earth’s orbit, and the satellite proved stronger than a giant piece of pie. The pie exploded upon impact, its warm fruit contents exploding out across space.

           

        Rumor has it, Zoorg is still floating out in space awaiting the day he is able to bring blueberry pies to the Earthlings. Additionally, the cox satellite has never been quite the same since the crash, which is why they run into so many problems to this very day.

 

As of recently, the media has become a watering hole for groups of all sorts – a refuge for those who feel lost in their surrounding environment. We now have the luxury of the internet, allowing us to be able to find fellow humans whom we can relate to in an instant. We cherish movies like Harry Potter, some of us finding ourselves in Hermione, others in Ron, and yet others in Draco. It is simply human nature; we grasp to those we feel are most like us; it is a deep-seated biological urge. It is the reason our caveman ancestors did not hand their child off to the wolves and say, “See ya!” (or whatever the caveman equivalent might be). This is why, it was so surprising to me that when I searched for my fellow Puerto Ricans in the movies and shows I watched, I came up empty handed. I did some digging and found that this was not merely user-error on my part, but was truly an issue. According to a study done by the University of Michigan, Latinos had accounted for a mere 2% of media personnel for the past 30 years. Thirty years – let that sink in. Not even mentioning the complete falsification in the few Latino characters that do make it on air. Now, considering the fact that about 17% of the U.S. population is Hispanic, these statistics do not seem to reflect our reality. 

 

For me, I do not live in Puerto Rico, nor do I have any family nearby. And with many people, this is the case. Left to our own devices, all we can do is hope to emulate those we see as role models, our fellow cavemen per say. I want to embrace my Puerto Rican heritage, but I truly struggle to do so here in America. Puerto Ricans across the U.S. are expressing the same issues, many repatriating back to Puerto Rico after having come to the mainland, in order to reunite with their culture. Fellow Puerto Rican, Raquel Richard, writes that, “colonization and migration have divided Puerto Rican identity so much that it will take reeducation of who we are as a people to be more aligned. That, I think, is what’s happening in Puerto Rico right now, young people trying to realign and honor that identity.” The search for Puerto Rican identity in the media has left many feeling as though their culture is not worth the attention that the media delegates to others.

 

        Some might say that Latinos seem to be doing just fine right now; besides, my favorite show has the perfect characters in place already; and really, what more could the media do to “include” Latino heritage? Now then we must consider the opposing end to those statements: Why do we have to teach our future generations history? Past is past, we are doing much better now than we were back then. Why spend money, effort, and time pouring over Ancient Egyptian burial methods, when we will not ever use them anyway? And the short answer to all of these questions… because if we choose to ignore our world’s diverse cultures, current or past, we choose to close off our minds from appreciating the depth that the world has to offer. An article states, “when you are open to meeting people from different cultures, you can have the chance to open many doors, broaden your communication, and have a deeper understanding of other countries.” No harm can come from accepting other cultures – the real harm comes from pushing them out.

 

        Our world seems to have double standards; a planet full to the brim with hypocrisy. We push on the media ideas like: inclusivity, cultural diversity, and we rein down furry on those who culturally appropriate, or discriminate. Yay us! But then, when we click on our TVs to sit and binge a few episodes after a long day of fighting the good fight, we seem to ignore the fact that there is only one (at best) Hispanic character on our favorite show. And sure, it’s just a show, right? It’s just a movie. It’s only a daily talk show. It is simply the morning news. Don’t read into it that much! But I can’t help but think how in the end, it was only an iceberg that caused a tsunami of hurt.

 

4.  Homework Mountain

 

Odysseus sat peacefully, enjoying the cool Sunday afternoon accompanied by the sound of birds dancing in the trees. Nothing could quite compare to this, Odysseus thought to himself, with a smile spread wide across his face.

 

The next day proved that, indeed, Sunday’s grandeur was finite. By Monday afternoon, Odysseus had traversed school for a grueling 8 hours, rejoicing with the last bell and rushing home. Exhausted, Odysseus tossed aside his bag and jumped in bed, quickly falling into a deep sleep. Once he woke up, his console called out to him, ensnaring Odysseus into its grasp. To Odysseus’s shock, it was soon well past midnight, and he decided to resign to bed once more. The rest of the week continued on, much like this, with a few sports practices sprinkled in among the chaos.

 

When the final bell rang on Friday, Odysseus could not contain his excitement, planning to sleep and hang out with his friends all weekend long. However, when he arrived home, he was faced with his mother, who seemed even more frustrated than usual. As Odysseus made his plea to go to the movies with his friends, his mother interrupted him with the words that Odysseus dreaded all week long.

“Odysseus, have you finished your homework?” his mother asked expectantly.

 

With a bow of his head, Odysseus sulked off to his room, knowing full well, that a trip to the movies, was out of the question.

 

Odysseus slouched at his desk, eyeing his messily kept assignment book. The list was monstrous in size. Dejected, Odysseus rested his head on his desk and soon felt his eyes closing.

 

-

 

Trembling shook the ground as Odysseus scrambled to his feet. He quickly looked around, frightened and confused. Immediately his eyes rested on a magnificent beast looming not too far away. Odysseus was taken aback, having never faced a monster of this size before. Having collected himself, Odysseus charged forward, ready for battle. However, as he neared the monster, he found himself fighting to move forward, but nevertheless falling into a snail-like pace. “This must be the work of that retched monster,” Odysseus thought to himself. And undoubtedly this was true, the turtle’s slowing powers were far beyond what Odysseus had anticipated.

Finally reaching the monster, Odysseus leapt into the air and began the climb. Hand over hand he continued on, for ages it seemed. The beast leering and attempting to throw him off the entire way up. At long last, Odysseus reached the top! He was victorious! With his impossible task, completed, Odysseus felt untouchable. All of a sudden, the monster reared with one, last-ditch attempt to throw Odysseus off. Odysseus flew through the air, and as he hit the ground, Odysseus woke with a start.

 

He sat abruptly up at his desk, attempting to reassess his surroundings. Soon his eyes fell upon his assignment book in front of him. Odysseus sighed and sadly picked up his pencil.

 

5. My story was inspired by the Odyssey in a few ways. Odysseus was the protagonist and represented a typical high school student. His world was peaceful and idyllic, until he faced the all-too-familiar “homework mountain” that so many high school students can relate to. The “monster” that he faced in his dream was inspired by the monsters presented in the Odyssey. Both represent a fear or a challenge beyond the fantasy world. Odysseus persevered in the dream to conquer the seemingly impossible “homework mountain” monster. He faced challenges like the slowing powers of the monster, which represent the pace at which homework seems to take. By reaching the top, Odysseus showed that even the most ominous of tasks is achievable. The dream ends, and Odysseus is able to take the lesson learned in the dream and apply it to his real-life homework situation. This was the main goal of ancient Greek myths as well. By teaching lessons and morals, myths gave people the tools that they needed to face the “impossible” in their daily lives.

 

All hero’s journeys begin with a status quo where the main character’s world is at a “normal” state. This occurs with Cady’s life in Africa and her being homeschooled for the entirety of her life. As a result of this, Cady is completely unprepared for the madness of public high school. When Cady faces the call to adventure in the form of her entering into high school, she is immediately overwhelmed. Many people often face the same feeling of entering into an unfamiliar environment and feeling completely out of place. Luckily, Cady meets Regina, a popular girl who takes Cady under her wing and into her friend group. Regina can be interpreted as the “mentor” in the story. However, Regina holds characteristics of not only a well-intentioned mentor, but also some aspects of a malicious trickster character. Nevertheless, Regina’s assistance is instrumental in Cady’s assimilation into her new environment. Cady soon meets “The Prince”, a boy in her math class named Aaron. Cady falls for Aaron and all seems to be going well, until Cady “crosses the threshold” after witnessing Regina kiss Aaron, and planning to destroy her life. Cady proceeds through trials of attempting to ruin Regina’s appearance, becoming more and more out of control as time progressed. The ordeal comes when Cady distributes copies of “The Burn Book” to everyone in the school and receives backlash for doing so. Regina is hit by a bus and having been accused of pushing her, Cady is ostracized from the student body. Cady is at her lowest point where she is faced with either withering in her sadness or attempting to apologize for her actions. Once again, the feeling of despair that Cady felt, is relatable to many people, and by working hard to redeem herself, Cady sets a good example for viewers. Cady’s reward is that she regains her former personality with the addition of the confidence that she received through Regina’s assistance. The “resurrection” comes when Cady presents her prom speech where she apologizes for her behavior, ending the movie in a ‘happily-ever-after” situation.

Quite a few lessons can be taken from Cady’s adventures. One of the overarching themes, is that friends are made in unexpected ways. For example, Cady makes friends with Regina even after their constant competition towards each other. Regina insults Cady behind her back saying, "that's the ugliest effing skirt I've ever seen,” after telling Cady that she liked it. But eventually, Cady and Regina realize that they are more alike than they had thought. After humiliating Regina, Cady feels extremely remorseful saying, “Wait Regina, I didn't mean for this to happen!”

 

Another theme that is presented through the hero’s journey is that the most daunting challenges can be ultimately positive experiences. Having been homeschooled for her whole life, Cady is overwhelmed by public high school. She hates her first day and tells her parents such. But, by the end of the movie Cady becomes prom queen and has made many friends. Throughout this however, a separate theme emerges, as the idea that one should stay true to oneself in every situation. Cady learns this lesson the hard way, by attempting to fit a mold she believed to be her key to popularity, losing herself in the process.

 

Conclusively, the movie Mean Girls is proof that the hero’s journey can be found just about anywhere. The lessons that it teaches are surprisingly deep for such a seemingly “light-hearted” movie. Having analyzed both the Odyssey and Mean Girls, has demonstrated how similar mythology is to modern day media.

 

        A classic hero of which most are familiar is the Amazonian-warrior, Wonder Woman. Wonder Woman demonstrates an atypical approach to heroism in many ways. Not only does she set inspirational records for women’s rights, but she demonstrates a peaceful strategy to solving conflicts. Wonder Woman approaches a chaotic and hateful world with a loving attitude, rather than a prototypical violent attitude. While possessing superhuman strength is not realistic for the average joe, Wonder Woman’s ideals perfectly demonstrate the purpose of heroes – to be role models.

 

        A more relatable hero figure might be the beloved superstars seen in the world of sports. While the physical physiques of these players are clearly impressive, such athletes are more than a number. Sprinters Tommie Smith and Juan Carlos displayed their heroism in 1968 with their Black Power demonstration in the Olympic Games Award Ceremony. Athletes like Smith and Carlos use their spotlight to set an example for all who look up to them that one should stand up for what they believe in.

 

The Odyssey is yet another example of heroism. While some instances throughout the Odyssey may be questionable now, at the time, Odysseus embodied all of the most ideal characteristics for a Greek. Santa Clara University ethics scholar, Scott LaBarg writes about how “we [as a society] define our ideals by the heroes we choose.” In the Greeks’ society, Odysseus was that definition. Clearly, our society has shifted slightly from then in respects to what is considered “heroic”, but the general idea is the same. Heroes provide society with essentially a set of guidelines for how to act in challenging life situations. As 19th -century historian Thomas Carlyle once observed, "society is founded on hero worship," and simply could not function without it.