I have always been a sucker for superhero movies. Childhood daydreams included visions of clinging
to Christopher Reeve’s back as he flew me over Manhattan. More recent fantasies have me as the iron
lady Robert Downey Jr. serenades after popping off his metallic suit. Why do these superhuman characters strike such
a chord with me? (I confess I never did get Batman. So dark and brooding. I mean come on, you’re independently wealthy,
easy on the eyes, have a personal assistant and a kick-ass car. Is life really so bad? Maybe if you added a little colour to your
wardrobe you’d feel better…)
Perhaps it’s the exciting chill of a fantastic action
sequence. Maybe it’s the hopeful wonder
of witnessing a nerdy outsider discover their secret power. Or maybe it’s the absolute certainty that at
the end of 90 minutes, whether aided by x-ray vision or arachnid senses, the
hero will save the day, order will be restored and everyone will return to the safety of their homes knowing that everything
will be ok.
Thankfully, my daughters share my love of Marvel men. This December, right after “a life sized
doll” my youngest wrote to Santa that what she really wanted for Christmas was
superpowers. Unfortunately, I couldn’t
find that section in Toys ‘r us but I was happy to announce to her one evening
that we were going to have a girls’ night out to go see the new Spiderman
movie.
It was a treat for the girls to be out so late. The weather
was mild as we joyfully walked to our neighbourhood cinema. Andrew
Garfield did not disappoint. Oh Spidey,
what an optimistic icon you are for invisible nerds everywhere. If a touch of bright spandex and a heart full
of integrity has you accomplishing such amazing things, anything seems possible.
It was after 10 by the time we started to head home. The girls shuffled along beside me in sleepy
contentment. The lights of all the local
stores were off and we could see our neighbours through their living room
windows, cozying up for the night.
“Look! The pharmacy is closed!” My 10 year old was wide-eyed
at this view of the neighborhood she rarely got to see.
I pulled her tight.
“Yup, it’s really really late!”
“And the hairdresser is closed!”
“Yup. They’ve all gone home to bed.”
“And even the grocery store is closed!” I laughed and took her hand. We fell into comfortable silence, our feet
keeping a soft rhythm on the pavement.
The houses rolled by us.
And then, out of the quiet of the night, my three-foot-high,
curly-haired sage observed,
“But home is never closed, is it mommy.”
Home. That place
where we feel safe and secure. Our bat
cave where we lean on the strength of family and friends when faced by our own
kryptonite. Not the physical structure
where we lay our heads at night, but the friends we can always call up after months of
absence to go out for a night of drinks, laughs and commiseration. The family members who make us laugh through
our tears. Those people we return to that calm our spirit, ground us and pull
us back to centre. The superheroes of
our daily lives. The anchors of familiar
security that remind us that it’s all going to be ok.
***
Recently I found myself having a series of hard days. It was one of those weeks where all the
uncertainties and pressures of every sphere of your life seem to converge in
some galactic test of your inner resilience.
It was a test I felt I was failing as the end of the week
approached. Weeks earlier I had
scheduled to go out with some friends for a drink that day but when 5 o’clock
rolled around, I was so spent I wasn’t sure how I would ever manage to drag
myself to my car. In the elevator I
found myself cornered by a colleague.
“You meeting us there?”
Oh crap. I stumbled to think of
an excuse and flustered through some rambling explanation about how I wasn’t
feeling great and thought maybe I would pass this time. He persisted.
“You have to come.
Just one drink. You’ll be glad
you did.” I could feel tears of
exhaustion start to sting my eyes. I
finally mustered up some authentic courage.
“I really...just need to go home.”
When I finally peeled off my coat and boots and walked into
my house, I paused at the entry of the living room. My husband and kids were cuddled on the couch
in front of the TV. My own team of
avengers. The little one looked up and
shouted excitedly,
“Mommy, Thor is on!”
I finally exhaled and smiled as I nudged them all over to
make room for me. Silently I thought to
myself, yup, everything is going to be ok.
I was home.