Ravioli’s son is just 4, just entering The Superhero Stage, that stage that little boys go through when all they want to do is dress up in a superhero costume and pretend to save people. (It doesn’t change when they grow up. Grown up boys still want to be thought of as superheroes.) But is being a Superhero really that great? This is something I’ve been wondering about since I saw Kick Ass this summer. I mean, think about it from their side. This is something I wrote when P.U. turned 4 and was obsessed with saving people.
I hate Superman! I hate Superman! I hate Superman!
My name is Superman and I am a superhero. I have been a superhero for 35 years, 10 months and 14 days. Every day I wake up and I say, Today, I’m not going to help anyone, not a single person, not even a fly. But it doesn’t work. By the time I should be brushing my teeth, I’m off helping someone. Look at me. Look at my teeth. Cavities. Plaque. I barely have time to eat. I am exhausted. You people think it’s easy, bending steel with my bare hands, leaping tall buildings in a single bound. It’s exhausting, let me tell you, exhausting. Ex – Haus – Ting. I need a vacation. But do I get a vacation? But Nooo. Superman doesn’t get vacation. He just works all the time. All the damn time. I tried to go on vacation, I did. Really. Pinkie swear it. I went to Italy. To a beach. My to-do list consisted of 1. lying on a beach and 2. rolling over to make sure I got an even tan. Look at me, I’m as white as a ghost. Of course I am. I got down to the beach and before I could even grease up my leg, there was a woman drowning, yelling, Save me Superman, save me. I wanted to ignore her. I did. I really did. I tried. But nooooo. That Superman gene kicked in and there I was, beach vacation and tanning priorities forgotten, saving this woman from drowning. After that, it was, Stop my kid from choking, Superman. Rescue my husband from his overturned sailboat, Superman. Help me Superman this. Help me Superman that. When do I catch a break? And then, I come home and before I can even get my damn foot in the door, Lois is on me. Honey, can you open this jar? Honey, can you unstop the toilet? Honey, can you lift the bureau so I can find my earring? I’m over it. I’m so over it. What is up with you people? Can’t you do anything for yourselves?
Sometimes, all we need is a rest and to be left alone to work on our tan. Even if we’re Superman. Or Superwoman. Or just regular people, trying to get it all done.