I fought back tears as I greeted him at the doorway.

We embraced and a thought returned that’s been in my mind for much of my life. This man has been my hero, my crusader without a cape, my Superman without an “S” stitched upon his chest.

I have told him so, more than a few times. He doesn’t understand why he’s my hero, but that’s fine with me. Because I do.

It was Thanksgiving Day last week in Piscataway, New Jersey, and inside a home filled with my family and friends, he sat quietly among the chatter and laughter that surrounded him. His humble presence demanded none of my attention, but when I pulled up a chair to be next to him, I silently thanked God for putting this man into my life 55 years ago.

His name is Roger Nepton. To his three grown sons, he is Pop. Because one of them is a junior we call Little Roger, he’s also Big Roger to many. To his grandkids, he is Pop Pop. He’s my brother-in-law, this 82-year-old born and raised Canadian who now resides in the state of Texas.

I first met Roger in 1970 when I was 19. He was dating my sister, Carol, at the same time my father was dying in a hospital. Being from Montreal, he spoke French, and each time he tried to speak English, he finished his sentence with, “Eh, how do you say?” After 10 or more of these repeated expressions, I thought, “Where did my sister find this guy?”

We got a late-night call to come to the hospital. Mom, Carol and I got into his car with him. Thoughts of my father being no longer alive were distracted by Roger’s driving through three small towns at rocket speed, blazing past stop signs and red lights, leaving me wondering if we were going to join my dad in the afterlife later that night.

We both laughed about that car ride on this Thanksgiving Day, and then I began to ask him questions as if I were interviewing him for a Times News story, and maybe I was because he has inspired me to write this column.

I would get to know him as Carol’s loving husband who bought her flowers on a Monday just because. I would get to know him as a father who helped raise three wonderful boys, one of whom was not biologically his. I would get to know that he was a hardworking man, a legendary backhoe operator who could dig out a structurally sound gas tank hole with quick precision. I would get to know that he was a hockey player from Canada who pitched for my men’s softball team, and when a ground ball was hit back to him, he would stop it with his legs like a goalie instead of using the glove on his hand.

Heroes are dedicated to a cause no matter what the circumstance. Roger took care of my sister for eight long years when she was seriously ill. He drove her cross-country to medical centers, trying desperately to find a cure for her debilitating and undiagnosed condition.

I was with him in the hospital on that day when this man of steel nerves, this man who loved my sister more than he loved himself, told the doctor to unplug the machine that was keeping his princess alive. As I saw a flood of tears fall from his eyes, I realized that he was there for me, too, whenever I needed his help. It’s just his nature to be a kind and giving soul, and upon the passing of my sister, I cried for him as well as I did for her.

He is the man I have espoused to be. Love your family with all your heart, mind and soul. If necessary, defend them with the fortitude of a Clint Eastwood and the fists of a John Wayne.

As I mentioned, he dug gas tank holes for a living, a job he was so good at that he was called back by the company several times after his retirement. His memory of his work took us back to a few unexpected surprises. He once dug a hole with his machine and uncovered a complete 1956 Cadillac. On another day, he dug up several bones from an old burial ground that no one knew had been there. Of most importance, he has left a part of his legacy underneath the ground at hundreds of gas stations all throughout America.

Roger has a heart and lung condition, but that didn’t stop him from driving himself and his wife, Sue, from Texas to New Jersey with an attitude that whatever challenges should come before us, we should not think of them as problems to avoid, but as tasks we must accept and do.

He has never complained to me about any misfortune he has had. One of 12 children who quit school in the seventh grade to help his father support their family, he has faced every difficulty with his head up, his chin squared, and his determination to do the right thing.

As he got up to leave and return to the hotel to be with his wife, who was feeling ill, I had another rush of emotion run through me.

On this Thanksgiving Day, God had given me the blessing of a few precious hours to spend with him, and yet, I was also left thinking I might never see him again after he makes the long trek back to Texas.

So, I wrote this column with both a blissful appreciation and a heavy heart, but I know that at the end of this day and the ones I still have left to live, I will be forever grateful for Roger Nepton Sr., my beloved brother-in-law and my great friend.

He is and always will be — my hero.

Email Rich Strack at richiesadie11@gmail.com