588. Klassresa 6A & Heroes

Klassresa 6A, Gröna Lund.

Jag var egentligen för gammal för att åka Spökhuset, men jag stod i kön och försökte se liten ut, lipfärdig, och låtsasrädd, så jag fick åka ändå. Sen blundade jag hela tiden, och när åkturen var klar så fick en gubbe som jobbade där springa fram och väcka mig: det är över nu! Jag hade suttit kvar och blundat, och hindrat alla småbarn som också ville åka, från att hoppa in i vagnen som jag satt i. Så jag vaknade upp med massa småbarn stående omkring mig, och deras föräldrar vid sidan om, som väl måste trott att jag var någon slags underutvecklad, tragisk, figur.

Under tiden åkte klasskompisarna "Flygande mattan" och snackade om hur det pirrade i magen. Dom frågade hur Spökhuset var, och jag svarade bara att det var bra. Egentligen visste jag ingenting, bara att det borde ha varit spöken där för att det var ett spökhus, så jag sa: "Det var väl lite väl många spöken där, och alla såg likadana ut". Men jag visste ingenting; jag hade blundat mig förbi varenda en.

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They said I was too old to climb all those stairs.
I said: HEY, she's too young to die!
"No, no, no, you can't climb all those stairs."
HEY, give me a try!
"No, no, no, you can't climb all those stairs!"
I tried to persuade them, telling them, HEY, it's my daughter.
"But you are too old!"

The day after we had a meeting at the fire station, and called ourselves "HEROS!", in deep, sad voices; telling ourselves that it was nothing we could've done better. A lot of people came passing by, some of them with gifts in their hands; roses, teddy bears, cakes, all kind of gifts! And they called us HEROS too. But I couldn't stop thinking of my daughter. They told me to be proud of myself and what I had achieved. They shaked my hand, and they wrote letters, letting me know I was their hero. But my wife's never been telling me those words, cause, HEY, when it is your daughter sometimes you think the other way, and I can't say those words, I'm too old, ya know, I'm too old to be a hero, I'm too old to climb those stairs.

What is a hero? What is a hero for you? Is a hero a man who climb all those stairs, to save his little daughter from a burning house. Or his a hero the people who's telling him to calm down, to not climb, to let her die. For me it is the same thing. Or nothing. But a hero is not a man who's watching his little daughter die, telling her: "I can't, sorry, THEY NEVER SENT ME UP TO THE TOWER! I'm too old, ya know!". That is all I know. And sometimes I feel sorry for that, sometimes I feel that I'm feeling sorry for that just to put a little hero in myself. But most of the time I feel nothing, but grief. Or nothinhg, but nothing.