When heroes grow old

My father would always shout when he'd ask for a wrench.    
   
He'd say I could never get it right.    
   
The wrench  I'd get was never quite the right fit.    
   
He would get mad and we'd  fight.    
   
Heaven forbid I accidentally got the wrong drill bit.    
     
I got tired of the yelling and swears.    
   
It all changed one day though.    
   
Now when he gets mad he just shows this exhausted, sunken, face that he wears.    
   
It all happened too quick, but at first it had been slow.    
   
It was terifying and a bit sad.
   
But that sadness turned into contempt and pity.    
   
Now twenty one, a man at last.    
   
I asked my father for a tool and he took too long.    
   
If you blink you miss it because time flies past.    
   
On that day I looked my father in the eyes and it all felt wrong.    
   
The man who saw me take my first breath on earth    
   
A man who now struggles to breathe on his own.    
   
A man, but also my hero. For what it's worth.    
   
Dad I hope I've  listened and can live as you've shown.    
   
Real hero's don't wear capes or masks.     
   
No, real heroes are winded by the simplest tasks    
   
Life is about the pursuit of happiness, that's what I'm told    
   
But what if what makes you happy has grown tired and old?