This is another childhood story.
When I was little– like five or six or so– mom and I lived in my grandmother’s basement (a place I’d end up several times in my life). It was a chaotic and often angry household, as at any given time a number of family members with broken dreams returned to the nest of the drunkard grandfather with PTSD and the grandmother who never smiled (I wrote a tribute to her earlier on this blog if you want to look back for it). TL;DR: mom and I spent a lot of our time not at the house.
There was a toy store in Trotwood, Ohio called Children’s Palace. It was one of my favorite places, as it looked vaguely like a castle and had a wide array of toys, often including just scads and scads of clearance. One snow day from school, Mom took me over to the Palace to shop as there was a particularly nasty fight happening.
Two awesome things happened that day:
- I found a Daredevil Secret Wars figure. I’ve lost him now, but for a good 10 years he was my favorite toy. I’d only ever seen him once (that day) and I never saw another again in a store. I bet I could go get one on eBay. In fact I might when this post is over.
- They were opening the food court in the mall, so there was sort of a party atmosphere.
We enjoyed going from place to place at the food court and grabbing different foods. There was this awesome place that made all manner of dressed baked potatoes. There was also a place that made the best caramel popcorn called Popcorn Pizzaz. We shopped for hours, me carrying my new Daredevil with me.
On the ride home, the snow started again. It got bad. Like really, really bad. Whiteout on the freeway bad.
Mom told me everything was fine, and so I sat there contentedly, chatting with her while I was making up stories for Daredevil.
An abrupt turn, I suppose: that’s the last time I remember feeling totally and completely safe. We were NOT safe. We were not okay. The weather was terrible and we were going back to that hateful house and a fight that probably hadn’t blown over (as I remember it hadn’t, but it was a long time ago, so I might be mixing days in my head). But at that age, in that moment, Mom was still a super hero– much moreso than Daredevil– and if she said it was okay, it was okay.
I miss that feeling.
I also miss that action figure. I lost him in one of our many moves. I’d say it’s ironic, but that’s on the nose.
As I watch the world turn, watch our President do crazy things, work deeper and deeper into society and see how people treat each other, I often wish I could just sit in that passenger seat in that little Honda an hour longer, clutch that Daredevil figure a little tighter, and tell myself stories like it’s all okay.
I quoted Al Pacino’s speech from Any Given Sunday earlier this week. In it, he talks about how time takes things away from you. My hero– the one person who always made me feel safe– she can’t do that job anymore. She carried that weight for too long. I wish I could return the favor, but as she sits in pain, sometimes I wonder if anything I do is anywhere near enough.
And so I wish I could just sit one more hour in that passenger seat. I wish we could have one more popcorn ball.
I know I’ll be okay, though. She gave me that much. I’ve got this.
I just wish it was as easy to be a man without fear as they make it look in the comics.