Super Boy
There was a time when I tied a bath towel around my neck and attempted to save the world. I sat patiently on the porch, waiting for a breeze. When that wind finally came, I threw caution to it and took off as fast as my little legs would allow. I ran full tilt in a straight line down the runway that was our front lawn until the wind lifted my cape and I simulated flying. Pulling down the pair of protective goggles that I'd lifted from my father's tool box, I seemed to soar, my eyes sheilded behind clear plastic and looking for people in need of assistance.
The first super sense to kick in was my acute hearing as a cry from the distance raced through the wind alongisde me. I followed the sound to the backyard to discover that a cinder block had just come crashing down on my big brother's foot. I later learned that he had dropped it in an attempt to exhibit his own strength by lifting it over his own head for as long as possible. But, the reason never mattered to superhero. All that was necessary to be saved was for a person to be in danger. So, I gathered all the muscle I could muster. I gripped the sides and pulled...with an astonishing amount of failure. Once more, I pulled, but to no avail. My brother looked at me, tears in his eyes, in utter confusion. At the time, it seemed like he was questioning my super strength. But looking back now from a distance of almost twenty years, I can see clearly that he hadn't the faintest idea why I was there or why I was wearing a towel and goggles. He had been fully capable of picking up a cinder block by himself even at that age. His big kid hands gripped the sides and I placed my littler super-hero ones across his and he lifted the cinder block practically all be himself. My little hands had served merely as guides in the operation, making sure the cinder block lifted up into a straight line and not veering even an inch. The block was set down and there was an awkward pause, nether of us really knowing what to say or do. After several long minutes of silence, I offered him my cape to dry his eyes, knowing even from the moment I offered that he would just use his sleeve. We paused for some more awkward confusioin. And, then, I motioned to the sky and said simply, "I'm off!!"
Back simulated soaring across the front lawn, I honed my super senses in on any possible emergencies. Soon, my legs grew tired. With seemingly no rescues on the horizon, I returned to my official homebase, the porch. My cape dragged across the ground as I paced back and forth. Boredom, that evil henchman, would surely set in if I didn't do something fast. So, I did what any self-respecting superhero would so. I ran to the freezer, grabbed an ice tray and, one by one, melted every single ice cube with my mind. When I finished with every tray in the freezer, I set my mind to melting bigger things. Our mailbox, the family station wagon, and the neighbor's doberman pinscher (who, through growls and vicious nips at my cape, had become my arch nemesis). But, it was no use. My mind melting powers stopped at ice cubes. I began to reconsider the strength of my powers.
To distract myself from self-doubt I mounted my super Huffy (which served as super bicycle, motorcycle, car, boat, jet, and jet ski) and set out to prove myself once and for all. I listened for crys, but the air was silent. My feet pedaled faster thinking only that the harder they worked the more we'd be awarded in the end. But, the day was peaceful. My pace increased. My cape flapped wildly up and down. My head swivelled side to side in rythmn with the pedaling. No cry. No sound at all, but the tires gliding on pavement. More speed. No sound. More speed. No sound. More speed. More speed. More speed. And all at once I heard something...what I'll never really know. The braking was too fast, too hard, and I was launched headlong over the handle bars. I landed hard-luckily into soft grass-and rolled. When the momentum of the roll stopped, I slowly picked myself up, dusted myself off and softly cried, as much from disappointment as from any pain. I looked to where my bike lay some fifteen feet away and thanked God that after being thrown all that distance, I only had scrapes and bruises. Thrown? Thrown? No. I hadn't been thrown.
I gave up my superhero career not long after, but that day has always stuck with me-the day I flew.
The first super sense to kick in was my acute hearing as a cry from the distance raced through the wind alongisde me. I followed the sound to the backyard to discover that a cinder block had just come crashing down on my big brother's foot. I later learned that he had dropped it in an attempt to exhibit his own strength by lifting it over his own head for as long as possible. But, the reason never mattered to superhero. All that was necessary to be saved was for a person to be in danger. So, I gathered all the muscle I could muster. I gripped the sides and pulled...with an astonishing amount of failure. Once more, I pulled, but to no avail. My brother looked at me, tears in his eyes, in utter confusion. At the time, it seemed like he was questioning my super strength. But looking back now from a distance of almost twenty years, I can see clearly that he hadn't the faintest idea why I was there or why I was wearing a towel and goggles. He had been fully capable of picking up a cinder block by himself even at that age. His big kid hands gripped the sides and I placed my littler super-hero ones across his and he lifted the cinder block practically all be himself. My little hands had served merely as guides in the operation, making sure the cinder block lifted up into a straight line and not veering even an inch. The block was set down and there was an awkward pause, nether of us really knowing what to say or do. After several long minutes of silence, I offered him my cape to dry his eyes, knowing even from the moment I offered that he would just use his sleeve. We paused for some more awkward confusioin. And, then, I motioned to the sky and said simply, "I'm off!!"
Back simulated soaring across the front lawn, I honed my super senses in on any possible emergencies. Soon, my legs grew tired. With seemingly no rescues on the horizon, I returned to my official homebase, the porch. My cape dragged across the ground as I paced back and forth. Boredom, that evil henchman, would surely set in if I didn't do something fast. So, I did what any self-respecting superhero would so. I ran to the freezer, grabbed an ice tray and, one by one, melted every single ice cube with my mind. When I finished with every tray in the freezer, I set my mind to melting bigger things. Our mailbox, the family station wagon, and the neighbor's doberman pinscher (who, through growls and vicious nips at my cape, had become my arch nemesis). But, it was no use. My mind melting powers stopped at ice cubes. I began to reconsider the strength of my powers.
To distract myself from self-doubt I mounted my super Huffy (which served as super bicycle, motorcycle, car, boat, jet, and jet ski) and set out to prove myself once and for all. I listened for crys, but the air was silent. My feet pedaled faster thinking only that the harder they worked the more we'd be awarded in the end. But, the day was peaceful. My pace increased. My cape flapped wildly up and down. My head swivelled side to side in rythmn with the pedaling. No cry. No sound at all, but the tires gliding on pavement. More speed. No sound. More speed. No sound. More speed. More speed. More speed. And all at once I heard something...what I'll never really know. The braking was too fast, too hard, and I was launched headlong over the handle bars. I landed hard-luckily into soft grass-and rolled. When the momentum of the roll stopped, I slowly picked myself up, dusted myself off and softly cried, as much from disappointment as from any pain. I looked to where my bike lay some fifteen feet away and thanked God that after being thrown all that distance, I only had scrapes and bruises. Thrown? Thrown? No. I hadn't been thrown.
I gave up my superhero career not long after, but that day has always stuck with me-the day I flew.
posted by Mrs. Myrtle Standich at 12:47 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home