True American Hero

Every father knows the weight: a kid on his shoulders, small hands in his hair, the whole world at a different height. It is how a child first sees a parade, a fireworks show or the end of a ballgame over everyone else's heads, and the father is the one who makes that possible.

Which makes the arms in this picture the real subject. The child is not holding on. Both arms are thrown up like a runner crossing a finish line, because the one thing the child is sure of up there is that there will be no falling. That is trust, and it gets built in the plainest way: one shoulder ride at a time.

Heroes are usually measured by a single day. Most fathers are measured by thousands of ordinary ones, the car rides and the night feedings and the bike repairs. The banner overhead says what the child already knows.

It is made like an old two-color poster, navy and faded coral on warm cream, with a halftone dot texture and the red slightly off register. A man in a jacket stands square, the child perched above him under a curved banner reading TRUE AMERICAN HERO, and below, in small script: also known as Dad.