I’m teaching my sixth graders about heroes this week. “What makes a hero?” I ask them, and their answers tumble out eagerly: helpers, mentors, inspirations, people who do things that make the world better for others. When I was their age, asked to choose my hero, I didn’t hesitate: my mom.

Now, as fall settles over Virginia and the days shorten, I sit at the river’s edge journaling about heroism, and I’m aware something has shifted. I don’t have heroes anymore. No one on a pedestal. No one considered perfect. And what’s saddest? I’ve stopped considering I had the potential to be anyone’s hero since I am, myself, so deeply flawed.

When October Strips Things Bare

October teaches me, schools me. The leaves fall, the days shrink, the sun moves farther south on my morning horizon. My husband loves Halloween—I decorate the porch in dark themes for him, though honestly, I’d rather keep the ghosts and goblins behind the fence in our backyard where it bumps against the church cemetery.

There’s something about this season that makes me nostalgic, autumn leaves and pumpkin patches like at the Falloween festival Tony took me to this weekend. I remember falling in love with fall in 2015 when I started dating the man I thought was Prince Charming. That seems like another lifetime ago, though it’s only been a decade. Time has a way of revealing shadows in our fairy tales.

The Lesson Plan I Didn’t Expect

According to the article we read today, heroism is character: the inner qualities we face hardships with, like courage and bravery, for the purpose of serving others, not fame or glory. Our character determines our choices, our choices define our steps, and our journey is one of accumulating the right choices. In that way, anyone can be a hero based on the collective choices they make.

We all love that thematic message of hope—that light will overcome darkness, that good will triumph, evil will be defeated, and we will be better for it. My students believe this with the fervor only sixth graders can muster.

But sitting at the river this morning, I wondered: Are heroes flawless? Timeless? I loved superhero stories as a child, but I filtered them through biblical narratives. Superheroes pointed me to the one true hero – One who would give the ultimate sacrifice, His life, so I could truly live, be forgiven, be restored.

The Shift From Heroes to Mentors

As a child, my mom was my hero because I was constantly exposed to the way she selflessly sacrificed for my siblings and me, and for her fifth graders at my middle school. She seemed larger than life, capable of anything, flawless in my young eyes.

As an adult, I’ve begun collecting mentors instead of heroes.

The difference? Heroes stand on pedestals, untouchable and perfect. Mentors sit beside you on park benches, text you when you’re struggling, show up with their own scars visible. They don’t pretend to be flawless; instead, they show you how to navigate the flaws.

The Mentors Who Shape Us

My mother has always been my mentor, but over the years, God has appointed other voices in my life to help shape the character that determines my choices and actions.

People like Mama Marci—Joshua’s mom—who will drop what she’s doing to encourage me. Tomorrow she’s having bypass surgery, and I wish I could be with her. I miss her son lately, miss the way he saw me. He was my last boyfriend before my husband, and I was beautiful to him, inside and out, even with bipolar disorder. That kind of seeing, that kind of acceptance… it changes you.

People like Mama Sue—coincidentally Marci’s best friend and the mother of my oldest brother’s wife—who prays and counsels me through trials. The way God weaves these connections, these safety nets of mentorship, never ceases to amaze me.

Even Santa Billy at the sunrise, with his daily encouragement and that red tumbler emblazoned with “Believe.” These aren’t heroes. They’re something better – they’re human guides who’ve walked hard paths and still choose to light the way for others.

What My Sixth Graders Don’t Know Yet

My students don’t know yet that they’ll likely trade their heroes for mentors someday. That the people they’ll come to value most won’t be the flawless ones on pedestals, but the imperfect ones who kept showing up anyway.

They don’t know that heroism might look less like Superman and more like:

• A mother who gets up every day despite her own struggles
• A friend who texts you encouragement before surgery
• A teacher who admits she doesn’t have all the answers
• A stranger at sunrise who reminds you that you matter

The October Truth

October strips things bare – trees, daylight, illusions about heroes. Nevertheless, in that bareness, something else becomes visible: the network of mentors who hold us up, not from pedestals but from beside us in the trenches.

I may have stopped believing I could be anyone’s hero – I know too well my own battles with bipolar disorder, my struggles in marriage, my daily fight to show up at sunrise just to stay stable. But I’m starting to wonder if maybe that’s what qualifies someone to be a mentor. Not perfection, but persistence. Not flawlessness, but faithfulness to keep showing up.

Tomorrow, while Mama Marci is in surgery, I’ll be teaching twelve-year-olds about heroes. But tonight, I’m thinking about mentors – the ones who’ve shaped me, the one I might unknowingly be for others, and the beautiful truth that we don’t need to be flawless to help light someone else’s way.

We classically examine the hero’s journey in English class. He embarks on a quest and overcomes challenges to give us a happy ending. I think the real hero’s journey is not an ascent to perfection but a descent from pedestals to walk alongside others in their imperfect, progressing stories.

The sun will rise tomorrow, farther south than today. I’ll be there to witness it, not as a hero, but as someone still learning from mentors how to navigate the darkness. I’ll hang ghost decorations outside to please my family but pray good triumphs over evil inside our home.