We have Superman and The Batman capes from Target. They are really cool.
I disagreed with boy when he decided he would be The Batman and I would be Superman. I always loved The Batman and never really cared for Supes. The Batman was the great dark tortured avenger. Superman was bright and shiny and dumb.
I tried to explain that my years of life experience better equipped me to tap in to the darker aspects of the man behind the cape and cowl. “I am The Dark Knight!” I urged.
Besides, Superman is ready made for a three year old. Hands on hips. Stop bad. Do good. I even told him he has the better hair for Superman. I wanted to appeal to his ego, you see.
I should have known better. When Boy makes a decision it is final. I was doomed to be Superman.
I gave him a shrug as if to say, “Fine, we will play it wrong.”
Even though I was forced into it, I was going to do it right. I spent the next ten minutes molding my scalp with the Dippity Doo. With the precision of a surgeon, my hands crafted the perfect curl of hair on my fore head. Jor-El would have been a proud pappy.
The capes themselves were made to fit Boys’ body. His The Batman cape billowed beautifully in the wind as if a high paid special effects team erased the fishing wire. My cape sat like a bib that the oversized dumb kid put on backwards. This is why the hair was so important.
Once we were ready in our capes we regarded each other. Suddenly, I realized how tiny he was compared to me. In mathematical terms I figured I was one hundred times bigger and like a million trillion times stronger. I started to feel the awesome power of Superman. My strength and capabilities were intoxicating. Who needs to be The Batman? Why would I ever stoop to be vengeful and obsessive over super? Super was much better. Super was SUPER. I looked down at the tiny mortal with my perfect hair and had to suppress a mocking giggle. He was simply no match for me. “I’m SUPERMAN!” I bellowed in a deep impressive baritone as my fists found my hips. This miniscule Batbabe laughed and had the gall to say, “Silly daddy.” I didn’t break character. I’m a professional. I simply waited for him to gather himself and finally mutter “I Batman.” I decided not to correct him that he missed the “the” in his title. I’m better than that. With this we ventured outside our front door.
We ran around the building. He admired his cape flowing behind him. I admired the aerodynamic qualities of my hair. We would have stopped a crime had we spotted one.
As I resisted the temptation to use my super speed and leave him in the dust my mind wandered to the memory of my old comic books. Somehow whenever they were pitted against one another The Batman always defeated Superman. It always made sense to me as a child but from this new vantage point of power beyond my imagination it seemed farcical. It was unrealistic to ever believe that this micro Bat could ever defeat me. “It was all bullshit.” I muttered inaudibly under my breath.
Just then The Batman stopped running. He had pointed to his shoelace that had come undone due to our lightning velocity. I sprang in to action and fell to my knees and proceeded to give it a super tie. As I did this, The Batman scrubbed my hair with his hands and destroyed my curl. I felt my power slip away as if I had eaten a pound of kryptonite. I looked up at the towering dark figure of The Bat and realized he had defeated me.
Mortality and no small measure of embarrassment washed over me as the cute ladies next door happened past. They had to awkwardly step around The Batman and the overgrown kid with his bib on backwards. If only I could have flown around the world and turned back time.
