For a young boy who used to put on dad’s big baggy blazer. He was my hero. For a young boy who grew up with him in the skyline’s highrise offices. He was my hero. For a young boy who witnessed the banking sky fall and the high brought low with a pink slipped two-week notice. He was my hero. For a boy who learned early on that the mighty have not fallen.. The mighty get back up. He was my hero. For a young boy who learned the value of a handshake and hard work to put dinner on a table. He was my hero. For a young boy who never saw “bust” and only saw “us”. He was my hero. For a young boy who saw that helping others mattered most. He was my hero. For a young boy who got to play with his dad after school, every day, for years and years. He was my hero. For a young boy who grew up respecting that crisp white collar as much as the blue collared shirt sleeve rolled up to lend a hand. He was my hero. For a young boy who learned that “unemployed” was a mountain to be climbed one handshake and prayer of thanks at a time. He was my hero. For a young boy who decades later sits at his own desk, at his own job, and hears from the man who inspired him time and time again.. He was my hero. He is my hero. He’ll stand once more.