Her Name was Dora

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “My Hero.”

Who’s your hero? Tell us a story about why that person plays such an important role in your life. ~ Daily Post

I would love to tell you about my hero. She was larger than life itself and I’m not talking about her size.  She had a heart that would melt the coldest of hearts and turn even the meanest into a pussycat.

She played the piano, by ear. In fact, she played Rag Time Music so well she would play for the barn dances in her community.  She was raised in the country and was a country kind of girl. She went to school when all they had were slates and chalk to write with and when girls graduated after the eighth grade because they were needed on the farms.

She was my grandmother and her name was Dora.  I loved going to her home and staying for the summer.  It was a home filled with love, joy, and blissful peace.

One summer when I was staying with her there was a knock on the door.  I went to the door and a little old man, bent over, was standing at the door.

“Do you have some food in exchange for work?” He sheepishly asked me.

“Just a moment. Let me get my grandmother.” I rushed to her kitchen and told her about our visitor.

Grandmother Dora came to the door and the little old man, again asked,

“Do you have any food in exchange for work?”

As she opened the door wide I heard her reply,

“Honey, I don’t have any work, but I have plenty of food.”

She escorted this little old man to her kitchen, sat him down at her table and cooked him a full course meal.  It wasn’t even dinner time!

This is why she is my hero.  This, and a million other reasons.


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