Last year, a reviewer of What About the Boy? observed that the story is in the tradition of the “reluctant hero.” I wasn’t familiar with that term. I felt vaguely uncomfortable with the suggestion that my deeds or motives in trying to help my son were being seen as heroic. The alternative (not trying to help him) had been unthinkable, and so (along with my wife Judy) I simply did what had to be done. Surely, that merits no special credit. But perhaps my uneasiness with the word lies in concepts absorbed from the general culture.

The traditional image of a hero originated with the ancients, who created semi-divine figures like Hercules, famed for subduing monsters and otherwise rising to challenges beyond the capacity of ordinary mortals. Some modern figures are in the same tradition. Thus we have Superman (“faster than a speeding bullet,” etc.), as well as quasi-super characters such as Rambo or those for whom success is never very much in doubt (Indiana Jones, James Bond, et al.). In short, these guys are tough, fearless, clever, confident, and probably good-looking to boot. They’re also not particularly realistic (at least, not outside elite special-ops units in the military).

Their tales may be entertaining, but don’t intersect with life as I’ve known it.

I began writing What About the Boy? when I realized that my family’s situation was not unique, and that many families with developmentally disabled kids were, like us, moving heaven and earth in all-out attempts to improve their children’s options. In writing, I was simply putting a face on the experience of a chunk of the population that was and remains far too sizable.

OK, so what heroes are realistic, or recognizable? Actually, these exist in our culture as well. Examples in recent movies would include:

• Frodo, in the Lord of the Rings trilogy
• Billy Bean, manager of an underdog baseball team in Moneyball
• Vincent Freeman in Gattaca
• My favorite, Wei Minzhi, the 13-year-old substitute teacher in Not One Less

These are people who wrestle with personal weaknesses, doubts, or shortcomings. They have no special gifts, other than an understanding of what they must do if they are to live with themselves. They all face moments at which the easier course, by far, would be to admit defeat.

• Who could forget Frodo’s agonized expression as he acknowledges that no one else can accept the unwelcome task given to him? Despite the astonishing visual effects and pageantry of this saga, its strongest aspect is a message that staying the course costs Frodo almost more than he can bear.
• Billy still relives the points at which his life went off the rails, and responsibility for a losing team opens old wounds. The effort to save the team is powered by his undimmed determination to make things right–for himself and indeed for others like him who have ended up on the margins. But this means ignoring conventional wisdom, infuriating his colleagues, and taking a huge personal risk.
• Because of his genetic makeup, Vincent is expected to accept a menial job and second-class status. By far, that would be the easier course for him. But by an act of sustained willpower, he overcomes that limitation and proves that by golly he does control his own destiny.
• Unwilling to lose even a single student from her rural Chinese school, Wei Minzhi sets out on an odyssey to the city to rescue a runaway 10-year-old boy and bring him home. Every step of the way leads to a new obstacle, but incredibly, she never considers giving up

I like these stories, but each of them reaches an uplifting conclusion within a reasonable time frame. In life, things can remain more problematic. We can choose to do the right thing, confront personal demons, make sacrifices, and still not see the hoped-for reward. Or we can achieve enough to know that we’ve made a good choice but still not enough to claim victory. The struggle goes on.

I think the struggle goes on throughout life. I think this is a large part of what life is all about. That being the case, everyone who shoulders a burden that really cannot be ignored—as opposed to running away from it—is a hero. A reluctant hero, perhaps. I guess this is why we identify with stories that define this problem.