I have two junk drawers. These evil chasms full of misfits staked their claim in my kitchen. I am ashamed and slightly afraid of what lurks inside. Broken pink headphones strangle the never-used addition flash cards. Rogue keys laugh, “You’ll never remember what I unlock!” Dehydrated pens skulk in the dust bunnies, waiting to dupe an unsuspecting visitor.
Good Golly, my eye twitches at the thought of it.
My husband’s sage advice? “Close your eyes, and dump it in the garbage bin. You’ll never know what you’re missing.”
I knew he was right, and it would have worked… had I not peeked. There it was, all covered in crayon peels. I gasped, snatching the lone grey child’s glove out of the trash can and pressing it to my chest. “Oh my gosh, I almost threw this away.”
Mark gave me the you-frighten-me look when I dangled the glove by the thumb.
“Does this remind you of anything?” I asked.
“Winter?”
“Come on,” I groaned. “You can do better than that.”
His left eyebrow slanted. He knows I hate when he slants his eyebrow. “Uh… sledding in winter?”
I rolled my eyes and waited until the grin of understanding blossomed across his face.
Our son spent most of age four wearing this glove. It was his power. It transformed him from an everyday kid into a defender of justice and protector of Earth. There were days when I had to wipe spit off the wall because he would jump from couch to couch making swishy sound effects while blasting me with the power of the glove. Some days I had to apologize to strangers at the grocery store when he’d sling invisible webs from it, which incidentally, resembles a vulgar gesture.
It got out of control. He took on this superhero identity and wouldn’t answer to his real name. This might not have bothered me so much if he’d chosen something cool like Tiger Claw or Mini Ninja. But no, he chose Fred. In order to get his attention, I’d have to say, “Fred, stop eating what just came out of your nose,” or “Fred, don’t pick that up – it’s not chocolate.” I’m sure every passerby wondered why I named my kid after a Flintstone.
His utter refusal to live in reality scared me. I racked my brain on what I might have done to psychologically damage this child. I researched and diagnosed him with various mental diseases before a good friend told me I was being an idiot. In time, I calmed my inner hypochondriac and accepted him for who he was: a four-year-old boy with a highly-developed creative mind.
Wait a second. Isn’t that what I wanted?
It wasn’t until that glove was in my hand that I realized there was more to this childhood phase than mere fantasy. My little superhero was living the very character traits that I was trying, and failing, to teach him in my own not-so-super, adult-ish way.
Think about it.
Superheroes care about people. They spend all their time serving others. They know that when they are in “want” mode, they feel sorry for themselves and cannot be happy. Sure, Spiderman is jealous of Thor’s God-like physique, but does that stop him from webbing evil villains in uncomfortable positions high up off the ground for all to mock? Of course not. He’s all about protecting the innocents. And embarrassing the evil.
Superheroes believe the unbelievable. They have faith in themselves, in their capabilities, and in other people. They doubt the bad they hear about others and assume anyone can change for the better, even when it is painfully obvious to everyone else that they can’t.
Superheroes are never afraid to look ridiculous. I’m not saying green tights and capes aren’t a total turn-on, but wearing them in public takes a certain amount of courage. The point is, they take risks and fly way out of bounds of most people’s comfort zones. And they do it in a way that doesn’t get them thrown in jail. That’s key, people.
Superheroes understand the importance of power stances. Have you ever stood like you are the most powerful being on the planet? Do you tell yourself you are one sexy, sexy beast on a regular basis? Do you smile like your most desired wish just came true? I’m sure superheroes do that all the time. It’s why they are so confident.
Superheroes do their own stunts. Their bodies are just as active as their brains. On top of that, they have their own theme songs. How cool is that? Music has the power to create or destroy a good mood. I’m pretty sure my theme song is the Muppets’ version of “Mahna Mahna”.
I smiled, shook the crayon shavings off and placed the glove in the emptied drawer.
“Why are you keeping that? It doesn’t even fit him anymore.”
“Sure it does. It’s stretchy,” I said, sliding the drawer shut.
Mark clucked his tongue. “You know that’s how it starts, right? You stick one thing in there, it invites friends over, then pretty soon you have a full junk drawer again.”
I looked across the kitchen, setting my eye on the drawer next to the oven. “You know what? My red apron would make an excellent cape.” Cue theme song. “Mahna Mahna.”
