Like any typical American boy, I was fascinated with the idea of having superpowers. Many a safety pin was utilized to its maximum effectiveness by holding bath towels together around my neck to serve as capes. In my regular play clothes I was average, mundane, and vulnerable… but drape a towel over my back, and world watch out! I was a flying powerhouse. After five years of wearing the corners off of bath towels from poking holes and tying knots, I was given the most incredible gift: a Superman cape.
Now, I wasn't simply pretending to be Superman. I WAS Superman… no more make-believe for this 6yr. old!
Shortly after receiving my cape, I convinced my mother to buy me a pair of red fruit of the looms with a yellow band. After that I somehow ended up with a superman logo t-shirt, and to top it all off, a pair of solid yellow knee-high tube socks.
Now, I was fully aware that Superman’s boots were red, but when you’re six years old and you’ve got it that close…who cares? My costume was complete. Well… at least complete enough for me.
I remember on one particular Saturday, going to my phone booth (closet) to turn myself into Superman.
“Yellow socks pulled up to my knees to serve as boots? Check!
Red underwear with yellow band? Check!
Blue T-shirt with Superman emblem on chest tucked into my red underwear? Check!
Last but certainly not least, cape? Check!”
It wasn’t long after dawning myself in my superhero regalia and flying a couple rounds through the house whilst humming the superman theme tune, that I found my
first opportunity to rescue a citizen in distress.
The emergency: a bike accident.
The victim: an older neighborhood boy.
The villain: a neighbor’s mailbox.
In no time flat, I went from witnessing a horrific event through the kitchen window to running out the front door… arms outstretched…still humming the superman theme tune. I was, “Up! Up! And away!” It was a great feeling. I was a superhero, and I was doing what superheroes do: coming to the rescue to save a life. I ran…ehh…flew over to the boy as fast as I could, bent down, and in as mature a voice as my young vocal chords could muster, asked the boy if he was OK.
Now, you have to understand that the next set of events is etched into my memory clearer than the events described above. Follow me as I painfully relive it for you:
I’m looking over at this boy who was, to me, a lot older (probably 9 or 10). He hasn’t even looked at me as he is too concerned and focused on his bloody knee. He’s holding back tears in an effort to be a big boy. As any superhero would, and ignoring the fact that he was at least 20 pounds heavier than me… I begin grabbing the boys arm and his ‘good’ leg so that I can fly him to the comforting arms of his grateful and awestruck parents.
It soon becomes apparent that my picking the boy up is not going to happen, so I take a step back to reassess the situation. As I do, from my right, I hear the sound of bicycle peddles and rubber on concrete accompanied by the sound of growing laughter. I begin getting upset. How dare anybody laugh at this boy and his bike mishap?! As I look in the direction of the laughter, painful reality slaps me square in the face like a fistful of kryptonite. The approaching boys aren't laughing at
the injured kid…they’re laughing at me.
It hit me.... I saw it. I saw it for the first time. I wasn’t a powerful superhero fighting crime and saving lives. I was outside in my underwear. I ran home. I ran home and I hid. I'm not sure that I went back outside for quite some time after that.
Even after all these years, the desire to save lives and be someone’s hero still burns deep inside… too deep, I'm afraid.
Everywhere I go, I pass by people in need of a hero. Hungry, homeless, hurting, dying…all crying out for rescue. Daily I see them, and daily I pass by.
Don’t get me wrong…through the years I have occasionally run to the rescue for the young, the elderly, the orphans, the widows, the incarcerated, and the homeless. I have, on occasion, allowed myself to be the superhero that somebody needed in time of need… but only on occasion.
What is it that prevents me from always doing that, which deep down, I really want to do? Do I dissuade myself from even attempting to lift the weight of others… fearing that it will be too much for my shoulders to bear? Am I afraid of the laughter I may receive from others? Am I afraid that it may be revealed that I'm not as strong and capable as I sometimes like to imagine myself being?
At my age, it would be a little weird and highly frowned upon to walk around in red underwear...but I’m not too old to be Superman. The world needs a hero, and ‘though I understand that I can’t save the whole world…I can try and save those that God puts in my path. I can easily be there for those who need a kind word, a hug, a moment of my time, or just a few dollars that I would otherwise waste on myself buying junk I don’t need and in a few months won’t even want. I can even save a person from the very grips of Hell and the grave by simply sharing the love and truth of Jesus Christ.
I’m realizing more and more that I can get over the fear of feeling vulnerable. I can lay aside the fear of being laughed at and be that Superhero others are praying for by simply running out of my house every morning with arms outstretched and love on my lips. After all…I’m not a kid outside in my underwear, I’m a child of God who is clothed and armed with His righteousness and power.
I CAN make a difference.
I CAN change the world.
I CAN be a superhero…
… all without a cape.
©Copyright “Superman Once More” 2010 Joseph McCanne
