Superman

I remember. The much overused question of "What d'ya wanna be when you grow up son?" Some would say an astronaut. "I want to be the first man to land on the moon." It never happened. It was too late for that. Someone had already landed. Now Fireman Sam that was another one. A lot more realistic.

But me, I was different from other boys. I didn't want to hold a hose or wear a space helmet.

Because me, "I used to wanna be Superman."

I wanted to be the guy who'd wear his underwear on the outside. The guy who was courageous, selfless and protective. Whose power and strength outweighed his vulnerability. He was one man up against the world. I loved that. The contrast of good and evil. Knowing my rights from my wrongs. Knowing what was right and what was wrong.

One time I dressed up as Superman. A plain yellow t-shirt, a sheet of white material, it wasn't a cloth, it was my cape. I had this pair of shiny red wellington boots. Mum called them my Paddington Bear wellies. I'd wander; move around aimlessly in fields protecting Cheryl from invisible, evil forces. And by home time they'd all be defeated.

Superman was a risk taker. He'd put himself in danger to protect strangers from damage and harm. He was a good man. That's all I wanted to be. A man who could juggle his demons, dance and be happy. I fooled myself into believing that I was a good boy. Daddy didn't think so. I watched other kids my age and thought that it was possible to be that happy. And it's true, you can be happy but not in the real world.

I'd stare at that picture of the man dressed in blue. I'd drawn him with my best set of felt tip pens. My Ma had given them to me for Christmas. Da laughed. He thought coloring was for girls.

I'd think to myself "One day he may come and save me." He never did. Neither did God. That's when I realized that Superman wasn't real. He wasn't strong and his powers weren't infallible. People discovered his weakness. Kryptonite and radioactive remains of his home which were out to bring him down. That's when I had to let him go.

I tried to draw him again once after that. He turned out black and white. My black crayon and crayola pencil. That's how I visualized Superman, as dark as batman, with a heart like joker. He had to be. Letting a kid suffer like that.

I saw that drawing again. The one in colour. I burnt it. I watched Superman go up in flames. No one was there to put him out. No one was there to save him. Looks like Fireman Sam had retired.

I know that now. There's no one to save me anymore.

But if there's one thing Superman did, he taught me the true meaning of the word control. I know my weakness. It's my heart. I believe that's the weakness for every man.

But now I know how to handle my power. I can't fly, I can't teleport but I can take control. I can control others and I can control life. And to do so you have to own the power and if someone takes it from you, you have to take it back. At any cost.