Daddy was my first Valentine. Superman was my second.
I cleaned out my parents’ house after their deaths and found a baseball card-type picture of Superman. I’d scrawled inside a cartoon bubble “I love you.”
I spent the next four decades looking for a real, huggable Superman. For a man to sweep me up and rescue me from all harm and woe.
I stumbled upon this greeting card in Kroger this week. I wish Dad was alive so I could give it to him for Valentine’s Day.
At 25, I thought I’d found him. He was a police officer. I didn’t make the connection then to Superman. I expected a lot. I learned he was too busy rescuing other people to rescue me.
Dad died the summer of 2006. Overwhelmed with duties as caregiver to Mom, I cried to God for a protector. I meant a husband. I was 39 years old and still thought a Superman could rescue me.