Anything Man
When we got home from a family dinner last night, Anything Man was crouched in our living room, growling. He said he came from the planet Dinosauria, which was recently destroyed.
Though just 5 years old, he had the strength of 100 grown men. He could fly from the couch to the dog bed, lift a chair over his head, smash an empty kleenex box in five fells of his fist and run in place really, really fast.
His 3-year-old sidekick, Anything Boy, stumbled straight to bed. The journey to earth had exhausted him. Plus, at 8:30 p.m., it was way past his bedtime. Anything Man told us that Anything Boy is strong, but not as strong, of course, as Anything Man.
"What are your superpowers, Anything Man?" I asked.
"I can do anything," he said.
Duh.
While similar to Superman, Anything Man is impervious to Kryptonite. But not furniture, as we found out when he bumped his knee on the couch and groaned in agony. I let him stay up late. He reminded me of a 5-year-old scientist I know, who doesn't believe in superheroes and thinks they are for babies.
When I finally tucked Anything Man in bed next to Anything Boy, I said they could live with us forever. I promised to always take care of them because even superheroes need mommies.
As I stared into his sleepy eyes, I wondered about the molecular make up of a boy like Anything Man. What made him strong enough to smash boxes, but light enough to fly? How did he withstand the punishing space between his galaxy and ours? And what made him believe he could do anything?
Come to think of it, Anything Man, at 5 years old, wasn't too different from a 5-year-old earthling. Scraped knees, fly-away balloons and lost footraces would divide them all too soon, but I hoped that somewhere in the heart of my little scientist, there would always be a little bit of Anything Man.
Though just 5 years old, he had the strength of 100 grown men. He could fly from the couch to the dog bed, lift a chair over his head, smash an empty kleenex box in five fells of his fist and run in place really, really fast.
His 3-year-old sidekick, Anything Boy, stumbled straight to bed. The journey to earth had exhausted him. Plus, at 8:30 p.m., it was way past his bedtime. Anything Man told us that Anything Boy is strong, but not as strong, of course, as Anything Man.
"What are your superpowers, Anything Man?" I asked.
"I can do anything," he said.
Duh.
While similar to Superman, Anything Man is impervious to Kryptonite. But not furniture, as we found out when he bumped his knee on the couch and groaned in agony. I let him stay up late. He reminded me of a 5-year-old scientist I know, who doesn't believe in superheroes and thinks they are for babies.
When I finally tucked Anything Man in bed next to Anything Boy, I said they could live with us forever. I promised to always take care of them because even superheroes need mommies.
As I stared into his sleepy eyes, I wondered about the molecular make up of a boy like Anything Man. What made him strong enough to smash boxes, but light enough to fly? How did he withstand the punishing space between his galaxy and ours? And what made him believe he could do anything?
Come to think of it, Anything Man, at 5 years old, wasn't too different from a 5-year-old earthling. Scraped knees, fly-away balloons and lost footraces would divide them all too soon, but I hoped that somewhere in the heart of my little scientist, there would always be a little bit of Anything Man.
posted by Midwest Mama at 4:20 AM
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