By Samantha McKenzie

My heroes live in my house. They fight for me. They save me. They are family.

My heroes aren’t in the movies. They aren’t written about in comic books. Instead my heroes live in my home. They are my children, my parents, my siblings and all of the countless aunts, uncles and cousins who have held me down throughout my life time.

They are both old and young. Some live near and others live farther away.
But they are my blood.

They are the people  who’ve held my hand while I have faced all types of adversity. They’ve taken on giants, fought with villains and walked fearlessly into dark alleys to save the ones they love.

My warriors have tasted victory and defeat. We’ve lost battles together, and won wars. They know about falling down and helping each other get back up. This is what distinguishes family from others. They support each other no matter what.

These are the amazing people I’m proud to call my family.

They are strong and resilient. They band together to support one another and when they are faced with life’s turbulence or derailments in their journeys, they dig deeper into their powers and find the wellspring of fortitude to help them carry on.

Family and close friends. These are the real heroes: These are the extraordinary souls that step fervently into the light. The only way you’d know who they are, is if we talk about them, if we tell their story.

My mother is my hero. My sister is the hero. So is my brother Wayne.

I’ve watched my three children grow into heroes and warriors and saviors too.

Their superpower is love.

They live through the real adventures. Their bravery is talked about in small circles, by ordinary people. I watch them put on their armor. I witness them as they face fears, fight against the demons, save lives and live to see another day.

They are the real heroes. They are our family.