As a side effect of reading comic books from a very early age, I have always wanted to be a superhero. I wanted abilities beyond that of normal men, and a spiffy costume that I looked good in. I wanted to save people from certain death or dismemberment, defeat the plots of evil cabals, and generally leave bystanders in dumbstruck awe whenever I flew/ran/leaped by.
That hasn't happened, of course. And since we pretty much know that superheroes are all between the ages of 17 and 35, I'm fast running out of time to strike fear into the heart of evil. I doubt I would ever look good in skintight colors, no matter how much exercise I do. I could maybe do some kind of next-generation superhero costume with combat boots and a trenchcoat, I guess. I've got the abilities beyond that of normal men taken care of, and I save people from death and dismemberment every day by being a safe driver. I think I'm defeating the plots of evil cabals, but there are always more plots. And nobody tells me about the really evil ones.
The real problem is that I'm not leaving people in dumbstruck awe, I guess. At least not the good "what a magnificent specimen of heroism" dumbstruck awe. I occasionally get the "what is that thing and what is it doing" dumbstruck awe, but that isn't really what I'm looking for.
So, alas, like many fathers, my current plan live vicariously through my son as he embarks on the metahuman adventures I herd him toward. Now if I can just figure out how get radioactive spiders into his crib without my wife knowing...
Holy arachnids! Where do you get radioactive spiders?
Maybe your wife would favor a vat of toxic waste.
Posted by: Robin | January 31, 2006 at 12:37 PM
Ooooo... As loathe as I am to shoot down anyone's heartfelt contribution, I'd have to warn you to eschew the vat of toxic waste route. The VoTW almost invariably yields the super *villain*, or at the very least, the tragic and misunderstood man-thing, who, although heroic, never seems to illicit awe in the way the author is hoping for.
(I would even go so far as to say Dean might be able to EMPATHIZE with said beasts of pathos.)
Perhaps you could arrange a exhaustive yet random collection of chemicals on a wall, then have your boy wait by them for a freak lightning storm. You could also rocket young Stonebreaker off to a planet similar to Earth, yet whose sun's radiation is significantly different from ours to imbue him with the abilities you so crave. Or, contrive to have him present at the crash site of an alien space vessel here on earth, perhaps an emmisary of an intergalactic policing organization? You could try forming an acronym from the names of various mythological personages, each paragons of a particular virtue, then having him speak the resulting word, or even send him off to Tibet to learn the mystic arts after a failed career as a surgeon.
Um.
If you're super committed, you could hire someone to gun you and Shannon down outside a theatre, after having given the boy some phobia of flying mammals or what have you. I'd look into that as a last ditch effort, though...
Really, you have so many options. Heck, he may yet manifest the workings of a strange X-gene at puberty. You never know.
I guess what I'm saying is, just don't lose heart.
Unless, that is, you can develop some mechanized armored suit to keep you alive if you do.
Posted by: Marcus Aurelius | January 31, 2006 at 03:14 PM
Hmmm... Good point about the toxic waste.
It's just too bad the little tyke wasn't born a twin...
Or was he?
Posted by: Robin | January 31, 2006 at 04:25 PM