I ask my boy. I say, “Boy, who is your favorite superhero?” And he thinks for a minute. He looks up at the sky. He bites his lip and he says, “That’s easy. My favorite superhero is Batman.”
I say, “Why is it Batman?”
Because I’m thinking maybe I’ve got a brooder on my hands. Someone who is going to really get into Edgar Allan Poe and Peter Murphy in a couple of years. Someone who will etch names of people he loves into his arms at school. Someone who will start painting his fingernails black before he turns 15.
“Because he’s not a superhero,” he says. “He’s just a guy who is smart and who works out a lot and he went to China to learn how to fight.”
“And his girlfriend,” he says, “his girlfriend is a cat.”