I am still not sure how we select our heroes. 

For most of us, the story of our lives is littered with extraordinary characters who expand our sense of what is humanly possible.  Real or fictional, they lift us beyond the mundane and lend the promise of a more meaningful, magical world where anything is possible.

Of course, heroes are not necessarily good.  Traditionally, the Greeks used the term simply to describe those mortals who had done something so far beyond the scope of normal human experience as to leave an immortal memory of their deeds.  They made no distinction between benefactors of humankind, such as Asclepius, the first doctor, or the perpetrators of unthinkable crimes, such as Oedipus and Medea.

In his latest film, Looking for Eric, Ken Loach brilliantly reaffirms the role of the hero, telling the story of Eric, a football fanatic postman whose life is descending into crisis.  Facing a deep depression, after his second wife walked out, Eric is left with two stepsons drifting into crime and indolence and a cupboard full of undelivered letters and self-doubt.

It is at this point in the story that football legend Cantona, Eric’s namesake and idol, appears as a dream-like figure, assuming the role of philosopher-confident; somehow promising something more, something better – a different way of living, a different way of life.

Whether they assume such vivid proportions in our lives, we all have heroes – travelling companions who inspire us to be better than we are, direct us in times of trouble and keep us believing in the magic of human existence. 

 As parents, though, let’s face it: it is we who are heroes.  However good or bad we think we are at parenting, there is no escaping the fact that we play this exact same role for our children during their most formative years.  To them, we are literally ‘gods’, who know everything, see everything and possess extraordinary powers – even on the football field.

And yet, at a certain moment, a transition occurs.  We wake up one morning and our god-like wings have gone.  We struggle to help our children with their maths homework; we are outplayed on the football field; we cannot always afford to buy the perfect present; we are often late, sometimes say the wrong thing and regularly just don’t understand.

It is a terrible thing, as a parent, to feel that we have been displaced – abandoned on the scrapheap of childhood dreams alongside Father Christmas, Peter Pan and the Tooth Fairy.

Perhaps, though, we should return to our unlikely philosopher-confident, Eric Cantona.  Ironically, I am thinking that it is perhaps he who represents most clearly the ongoing responsibilities of those of us ‘out-of-work heroes’, whose children are finding other people to inspire them, guide them and give them hope.  Cantona is no longer a god on the football field – that’s for sure – but it is his memory and perspective that remains an inspiration to people like Eric the Postman.  And it is precisely this memory and perspective that I will always hold out towards my own children – the story of where they came from, who they are and who they can become.

As I watch my children grow, I know that others will appear and take my place.  They will be better, faster and stronger than me.  Maybe, though, in the end, I only start being a ‘dad’ when the superman cloak is finally and permanently put away. 

Maybe that is when the real parenting begins.

We’ll see.