At his request, each morning three-year-old Ry’s mother pinned a bath towel to
the back shoulders of his size two T-shirt. Immediately in his young imaginative mind, the towel became a brilliant magic blue and red cape. And he became Superman.
Outfitted each day in his “cape,” Ry’s days were packed with adventure and
daring escapades. He was Superman.
This fact was clearly pointed out last fall when his mother enrolled him in kindergarten class. During the course of the interview, the teacher asked Ry his name.
“Superman,” he answered politely and without pause.
The teacher smiled forgivingly, cast an appreciative glance at his mother, and
asked again, “Your real name, please.”
Again, Ry answered, “Superman.”
Realizing the situation demanded more authority, or maybe to hide amusement, the
teacher closed her eyes for a moment, then in a voice quite stern, said, “I will
have to have your real name for the records.”
Sensing he’d have to play straight with the teacher, Ry slid his eyes around the
room, hunched closer to her, and patting a corner of frayed towel at his
shoulder, answered in a voice hushed with conspiracy: “Clark Kent.”
***I dunno where I’m going. I dunno what for. But I’m making progress.