My father

To me, a hero is someone who thinks well before doing something because he does not want to do anybody any harm, not even himself. In my opinion, bravery itself is not characteristic of heroes because it can be very dangerous. Bravery is closely connected to boasting and non-premeditated action which I don’t like. Heroes must be clever enough not to endanger anyone.

My hero is my late father. He did some very brave things during the Second World War, helped a lot of people including his primary and secondary family, friends and unfamiliar persons, but he always thought well first to find the best way.

He was born in spring of 1913 in a little house in the vineyards of Prlekija in Slovenia. His father was a soldier in the First World War and died some years after returning home. My father, Janko, was the oldest of five children, so he had to help his mother. But the family had to fight for survival because they were very poor and one after another, three children died of tuberculosis.

The beautiful hills of Prlekija (http://www.jeruzalem-ormoz.si/slike/2.jpg)

My father taught me more than I could ever tell. In my childhood, together with my younger sister, I liked listening to the interesting stories of our father’s childhood, the stories in which he paid tribute to his mother, a simple countrywoman who spent many evenings reading what her children were learning at school because she did not want to stay behind. When I was getting older I observed how he treated people. He was extremely tolerant and understanding with most of them, but could not stand dishonesty, hypocrisy and cruelty. He never stopped learning and he wanted nobody to be as hungry as he had been in his early years.

I did not know how important he was for me while he was alive; I know it now. I miss him whenever I feel helpless and depressed, but then again, I know what he would do or say and I go on functioning well.