RIP, Steve-o

Today is the one year anniversary of my hero's untimely death. I feel this is worth mentioning for a series of reasons. First, and most obviously, he was Australian. Probably the most recognizable Aussie in the States. Before I came here, I was of the impression that most Australians thought he was something of a "wanker" (wikipedia it); a guy who pushed the Australian stereotype on other cultures and misrepresented the country. But to my relief, every time I brought the subject up, most of the kids I talked to weren't of that opinion. Although they did see him as a bit of a dork, almost everyone said they respected what he'd done for wildlife conservation and Australia. And it's true. In the area of conservation, no one has done anything remotely close to what Steve had accomplished in his 44 years, and I seriously doubt anyone ever will. In simply following his life through his television shows for five years before his death, I can honestly say that he changed my life. I started watching the Crocodile Hunter shows when I was about fifteen, and I was instantly hooked. I fell hard for the Australian accent, the love for animals, and the overall rugged, I-don't-care-if-you-whack-me-on-the-arm; I'm-still-going-to-muck-with-you mentality. Sure, it was funny watching Steve wrestle crocs and get tagged by snakes, but I found myself learning quite a bit along the way. I gained a much greater sense of respect for the less than cuddly animals that Steve loved most. I suppose I'm a product of exactly what he wanted: conservation through education.

His death last year hit me hard. Here was a man who had changed my life by instilling his energy and passion for all walks of life into me, and I would never get the opportunity to meet him, shake his hand, and thank him for everything he'd done. I bawled during the entirety of his memorial service, and at every subsequent mention of his legacy, I start to choke up. He's a big reason why I'm here right now; I wrote a rather heartwrenching essay on his impact on my life as a part of my study abroad application. I know it makes me completely cheesy, and a complete American about it all, but I loved Steve, and I genuinely regarded him as my hero. I loved his passion, his energy, his enthusiasm, his khaki shorts... everything about him. I still wear my "Wildlife Warriors" bracelet every day, and, at the age of 21, I'm not ashamed to flaunt my action figure or don my "He Changed Our World" t-shirt. I can't wait to visit his zoo and finally have the opportunity to see, first hand, everything he's created, and the world he lived in.

Before I got on the plane to come to Australia, the last thing my Dad said to me was "If anyone ever tells you dreams can't come true... tell them they're wrong." I knew what he said was true, and I'd like to think I owe a lot of that to the memory of Steve Irwin. Because with Steve, it wasn't about incorporating the word "crikey" into my vocabulary, trying to top-jaw rope my dog, bringing my life-size cardboard cut out to school, or even expanding my knowledge and appreciation for wildlife. It was about the passion. Sure, I spent a significant part of my later teenage years learning about salt water crocs, spitting cobras and sand goanas; but the lesson that has stayed with me the most has been to instill a sense of passion into whatever it is I'm doing. For that, he's impacted my life far more than many people I see on a regular basis. For that, I wish I could thank him.



One year later, I still miss you, mate.