The Chance Chatter of Chameleons

Superman is HOT! He can leap buildings in a single bound, fight crime like a mother. Spidey? Well, those super Spidey senses save the day. He swings from place to place with those fantastical silky spider webs. His upper body strength is unmatched.  There is Batman, Captain Marvel, Thor, the Hulk, Superwoman, the list goes on and on. There is a superhero for every bad guy out there. The problem is they aren’t real.

We are all searching for a superhero to save us. To vanquish the villain. To sweep us off our feet. We are looking for a romanticized ideal. I have seen superheroes. They have stinky feet.

Superhero’s wipe their moms’ eyes with sweaty small fists clenched in balls. Superheroes grab your hand with their clammy little hand and walk proudly beside you even though they are as scared as you are, never showing fear. I have seen these superheroes. They don’t wear capes; they wear their heart on their faces and run through the yard with stinky feet.

I have seen firsthand these superheroes and smelled their feet. The day that my 2-year-old daughter kissed my raw bloody knees after her father pushed me down and hugged me close, she was my superhero. She saved me from the villain. The time my son climbed up on my lap when I was utterly exhausted and overwhelmed, took his fists, and rubbed the tears out of my eyes telling me “Don’t cry, it will be ok”; he was my superhero. When I was in the darkest of places, and I saw five sets of eyes looking at me to pull my life back out of the depths of depression and hopelessness; they were my superheroes. True superheroes have stinky feet.

Year after year, time after time, I have been surrounded by superheroes. Those stinky feet hero’s that love unconditionally when I am unlovable. They love me when I move them once a year, changing schools like most people change clothes. They reach deep into their superpower reserve to lift me up out of failed relationships. These superheroes ground me when I am neurotic and irrational.   These superheroes stand by my side when I fail as a mom, as a daughter, a sister, a friend, shit fail as a human. They continue to use their powers for good. Superheroes have stinky feet.

For 26 years I have been hiding superheroes in my hideout. For 26 years I have been washing their stinky feet at the end of the day. Most of my superheroes have moved on to live their lives in their own lair. The stinky feet smell is fading. There are still some moments of sweaty hands. There are still times that I remind some of my superheroes that they need to wash their feet. Those times are fewer than I would like. What will I do when the last of my superhero’s leaves the lair? Will they leave me with a bat signal? The world needs superheroes; but so, do I.