Son of the Greatest

I wrote this many 8 years ago (maybe longer). Naturally I write much different now, and my inner editor is threatening to scrap and rewrite the entire thing, but this piece is important for the time that it was created. This is a story I wrote to communicate difficult things with my dad (see my previous post), and it was pivotal for our relationship. So here it is, unmodified, as I originally wrote it.

 Dad was always the strongest person I had ever known. When kids argued over whose dad could beat up the other kids' dads, I didn't get involved; mine would win, hands down. My dad was simply the best, and if any of the others knew who my dad was, they'd agree.

That didn't make him perfect. He often wasn't home, coming to my softball games late or missing out on them all together. I fought with a friend one time, and when I wanted to just cry in my dad's arm, he was gone… he was at work, "saving the world," as he always put it. He worked late all the time. Work often seemed more important than his family, than me…

I ignored it. I didn't let it get to me; I mean, I just couldn't. He wasn't the sort of person who let people down. There was more at stake than being there to see his son blow out 7 insignificant candles on a birthday cake. There were more important things than teaching me to ride my bike. I understood that, I really did. This knowledge didn't always make it easy, but I did understand.

Understanding is so frail, though. You can understand that you're too young to do something, but that doesn't mean you understand why. It may torment you, and you won't truly understand why you're too young to do that thing until you are no longer too young to do it. No, understanding does not automatically denote understanding.

So it was with me, a young boy who "Understood" that dad had extremely important things to do, and that's why he wasn't there. I knew this, because I had been told it over and over. He wasn't there when I took my first step, he wasn't there when I was too scared to sleep over at a friend's house, and he probably wouldn't be able to attend my entire graduation. Yeah, I understood quite well; I just had no way of comprehending it.

I saw the other boys get picked up from school early, to go spend the day with their dad. I saw friends have their dad take them to the park, buy them gifts, and do all kinds of other stuff that my dad was simply too busy to do. I still got gifts, and I went to the park. I did everything they did, but not much of it was with my dad. I'm sure I could probably count on one hand the amount of times my dad was actually there, on time, didn't leave early, and devoted all his attention to me. I'd probably have a few fingers left over…

When I was fourteen, I went out on my first date. She knew who my father was, but she didn't know I was in any way related. He was all she could talk about. Everyone always talked about my dad, but never talked about me in relation to him. Again, I understood; he was well known, famous even, but no one ever knew that I was his son. This girl was the same way, and though I can't really blame her, she didn't know how much it hurt. I didn't go out with her again. I barely talked to her, even at school. She was hurt, I know, but it was just too much to handle.

When I was sixteen, I went nearly a week without even seeing my dad. I had gotten my license, so naturally I was out of the house more. Mom probably told him I got it, I don't doubt, but it wasn't until I ran into him outside of the house that I got to say something to him about it.

Don't get me wrong, that was an amazing event. My dad took me, in that nice new car he and mom had bought me, and we went all over the place. He showed me things most people my age don't get to see often. In one day, we went to the hills overlooking the city and saw everything aglow as the sun was setting, then down to the pier to see the fishing boats coming in from a long day, and even to the tops of some rather tall buildings to overlook a city-in-transit.

Times like that more than made up for the lost times. In those hours I was in the car and with my dad, I felt like everything revolved around the two of us. In a sense, it did. That's all that mattered to me. Those random outings, where we'd do things that weren't typical father-son things to do… I cherished those. It was so unique, the things we would do, and I could honestly say that most kids didn't get to spend time with their dad in this manner.

We never vacationed, but those times with my father were vacation enough. I didn't need to see the world when I had someone like my dad around. People would be envious of me, if only I talked about it more openly.

I think the secrecy is part of what made things so difficult. I had so many times I want to just blurt out who my dad was, but I knew it would only make life more difficult in the long run. At first it didn't make sense, but that was when I was young and all the other kids just laughed at me. By the time I came to understand why I shouldn't tell people who I really was, that was about when people would have started taking me more seriously (or trying to beat me up for being so stupid).

Well, to be fair, it was the secrecy, and the realization that I didn't inherit his abilities. Yeah, I got some of his personality, and I was good at some of the stuff he was good at, but I didn't gain his abilities, the things that made him who he was. When he was at home, those abilities didn't really matter. But when he wasn't home, when he was out "at work," that was where it really mattered, and I would never be able to know what that was like. Even still, though, he always called me "Superboy," thinking that might count for something.

Most kids would think it's great having Superman for a dad, but I can attest that it's not all it's cracked up to be. They didn't think much when I told them my dad was Clark Kent, and in fact they expected me to be something of a bumbling nerd when I said as much. But I didn't really see Clark Kent at all; all I ever saw was Superman. That's who my dad was. My dad was Superman.

He was always busy, and didn't have much time for his family. I "understood" this when I was younger, but never really was able to come to terms with it.

Now that I was moving out on my own, starting a family of my own, being a man of responsibility, I finally fully understood. I knew what it meant to be gone all the time. I knew that he didn't want to miss my birthday, to miss my softball games, that he didn't want always want to be away from home. It used to be that I thought something was wrong, but now I finally understood; he was always gone because he loved me.

No, he wasn't the dad he could have been. People would scoff at the thought of Superman being anything but a perfect father, but I am living proof that he wasn't. Still, his imperfections are what made him who he was. It didn't matter how little I understood it, or how much pain it put him through; it was necessary.

Maybe it wasn't always necessary, though. Maybe there were times that he could have been there, but simply wasn't. You know, I really don't care anymore. I've put that all behind me. I've forgiven him completely. He still apologizes for it, and I'm not sure I can ever convince him he doesn't need to anymore. He tells me he could have given it up, that there were plenty of other people who could have done his job. He gives me so many excuses and reasons that he screwed up and I should be angry at him and I shouldn't be happy with him and… And I can't accept that. He did what he had to, he did what he felt he needed to, and he did what came to him naturally. Maybe he didn't always make the best decisions, but that doesn't really matter; it's in the past. Now, I just want to show him that he has nothing to worry about anymore.

We spoke, right before I was leaving. Again, he tried to apologize, but I very politely told him to shut up.

"Yes, you're Superman, and anyone would do anything just to be in my shoes. I mean, you're Superman! But that doesn't really mean much to me. You're better than Superman. You're my dad…"