As children we are taught that there is good and evil in the world, and that good things happen to good people and those who are bad will be punished. Little girls believe in fairy tales where the prince rescues the princess. Little boys believe in Superman, that Christ-like figure whom no man can hurt. But as we grow older, experience shows us that life is not always so black and white.
I love superheroes. My favorite as a child were the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Every year for three or four years that’s who I would dress up as for Halloween. Batman was a favorite, too. Mom loves telling me stories of how I would tie a towel around my neck and pretend it was my cape so I could be Batman. But to me, my father was a superhero too. One year for Halloween I even dressed up as my dad. He was invincible.
I don’t remember how old I was when my parents were divorced. I was young, though, probably in middle school. The weird thing is I don’t remember it upsetting me that much. To be honest, I was relieved more than anything. By that point my Dad was already not sleeping in the same room as my Mom. He slept out in the camper that we had. And I can remember being glad that I wouldn’t be kept up at night listening to them fighting. My sister was really hurt. I remember all the times she had to see her school councilor about it. I went back to my comic books.At this time I really started appreciating the stories comics had to offer. The Ninja Turtles were nice, but they had become a little juvenile for my taste. I enjoyed the faults of the characters; the human qualities. I was beginning to realize that all superheroes, the good ones anyway, had flaws. Even my dad.
Every summer since I was able to I’ve worked with my father. It was miserable work. I still feel the burns on my hands and knees from roofing a house in the middle of the afternoon in the Georgia heat. I can remember carrying stacks of lumber up never-ending stairs to a bathroom we were renovating. I can remember all of this, but at the same time I remember driving in the truck with my father. I remember laughing at jokes on the radio, or mixing up five gallon buckets of Kool-Aid. I remember watching my father as he used his superpower to fix broken things. My father was a superhero.
My father was also a good man. I didn’t realize it so much then as I did once I got into college. I would look back at all of the things my father did for other people. Something small would break, so he fixed it for free. He saw someone on the side of the road, so he would jump them off. If he could help someone, he would. I credit him for the love of service that I have today.
The best part of any superhero story is when they are about to fail. It happens to the best of them. Lex Luthor stabbed Superman with kryptonite. Spiderman cannot save his uncle. Their flaws led them into trouble. Superman is too trusting. Spiderman’s anger got in the way. But it always seemed like bad things just happened to my Dad. His tool trailer got stolen. His truck was rear ended. Clients screwed him out of money. It’s not until later that I realized that most of the bad things that have happened to him were because he was so nice. He trusted the neighborhood to keep his tool trailer in. He was removing bullets from the side of the expressway[1] after he had called it in several times. He drew plans of a new house for clients free of charge because they were having him build it, only to have them hire someone else[2]. My dad was a good man whom bad things happened to.
It’s different watching a superhero fall compared to watching your father suffer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him cry, but when he was in the hospital this weekend he was in tears. He was diagnosed with cellulitis and lymphoma, and his blood pressure was 200/120 when he was admitted into the hospital. It took them three days to bring it back to normal. On day three of being in the hospital, he had a severe migraine--so bad that the morphine they gave him didn’t take away the pain.
How do you comfort a superhero? When the invincible become mortal, how do you tell them it will be ok? I have comforted many people who have lost a loved one. I have been to many funerals. But this weekend made me realize how vulnerable people are, even superheroes.
[1] Bullets on the side of the expressway are actually very dangerous. If a tire were to run over the bullet, it could set it off. My father has a friend who is a detective for Gwinnet County who testified to this during his court hearing.
[2] Another interesting note is that the person whom they hired did a terrible job and could not pass inspection. They then asked my father if he would be willing to fix the problems. He did not take the job.
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