When our heroes fall from grace

Santa is often the first to go. At some point in the middle of childhood, we all discover we've been sold a myth. The story is real but not the actual bearded man dressed in red who drives a sled pulled by flying reindeer every Christmas Eve to deliver presents to all the boys and girls.

From there, the heroic status of our big brothers and sisters, older cousins, parents, uncles, aunts, grandparents, teachers, coaches and every adult in our life takes a tumble. The magic disappears, replaced by the cold reality that adults are just bigger versions of our childhood selves, both kind and cruel, sad and happy, gentle and harsh.

Yet we still cling to the notion of heroes as we move through our teen years and into adulthood.

We look to others and their heroic accomplishments to inspire us.

Some are fortunate enough to have that individual within their social orbit, an accessible mentor we aspire to be like one day. We watch them closely and emulate their behaviour but we don't fully raise them high as heroes because we see them eat, breathe and make mistakes.

When we look to popular culture for their heroes — athletes, musicians, actors and others who have acquired wealth and fame - they can be the Santa we let go. Because we don't know them as people, they become in our minds who we want them to be and we can worship them without fear of being proven wrong. Even when we get to meet our heroes in real life, the encounter is too brief to shake our heroes off the pedestal. If anything, the handshake and the few words — SHE WAS SO NICE! HE WAS SO HANDSOME! — solidifies our impression. We are young children again, posing for pictures with Santa in the shopping mall.

When our heroes die, we mourn them. They shaped our lives as much as our family and friends. When they pass at a respectable age due to illness — Jerry Lewis, Glen Campbell, Mary Tyler Moore — we pay tribute to how they enriched our lives. When they die suddenly, too young Tom Petty, Prince, Michael Jackson - we are shocked and hurt. When they take their own lives — Chris Cornell, Chester Bennington, Robin Williams — we are devastated.

In death, our heroes are untouchable. The myth we built around them to justify our worship is frozen in time. Their accomplishments remain to be eternally savoured; the songs, the movies, the championships remain as fresh and real to us as the first time they came into our lives, regardless of how many years have passed.

Unfortunately, some of us live to see our heroes disgraced before our very eyes. O.J. Simpson, Bill Cosby, Tonya Harding, Oscar Pistorius, Tiger Woods, Mel Gibson, Lance Armstrong. Favourites memories forever tarnished after worshipping a false idol, a racist, a cheater, a rapist, a murderer. Too often, we forget to put their transgressions on a scale and weight them appropriately, rather than lumping them all into one.

And more recently all the men fallen from grace, revealed to be lecherous pigs, abusers of their power and their male privilege to satisfy their base urges at the expense of the women around them.

Up until this month, Louis C.K. was revered for the bravery and honesty of his comedy, a pioneering genius. Now, he is reviled, a predatory monster.

Yet Sarah Silverman, a comic never afraid to speak her mind, has exposed the artifice of the hatred towards him is as misguided as the heroism was.

“I love Louis. He did those things. Both of those statements are true,” she said. “Can you love someone who did bad things?”

Of course we can because everyone does, all the time.

We are forgiven our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, a wise and peaceful man once said. Notice there was no mention made of forgetting the trespasses. For all sinners who seek redemption, the search never ends.

When it comes to our heroes, however, we are far less tolerant. After their disgrace, we see only our misplaced trust and praise.

From there, a cynicism grows, that somehow no one is deserving to be held up, no matter their accomplishments and that anyone who has worked hard to acquire fame and fortune got to the top by being a cruel jerk. But it never lasts. We long for heroes because we not only seek inspiration but also because we want to be identified as being connected to them and to others who share our devotion.

We learn from the disappointment of our misplaced adoration, just long enough for our faith to be redirected to someone new.

Neil Godbout is managing editor of The Prince George Citizen and former reporter with The Penticton Herald.