Everybody wants to be Batman

As I write this, there’s a cat at my elbow. It’s too early for humans to be up. My phone screen’s sending a “charging” symbol, like a Bat signal, or an SOS.  But the charger’s just gone kaput, so I’m getting dressed, and heading to the store.

None of this makes any sense, of course. I should be upstairs, happily  dreaming. The cat should be off chasing bugs. I ought to be able to fix that phone. But while I  believe I’m my own Batman, it seems I’m not a hero at all.  

Heroics can be a chronic habit - especially when you’re somebody’s mom. But constant “saving” isn’t always helpful - especially for the “saver” herself. Any comic fan can tell you there’s a drawback. Bruce Wayne will always be a bachelor. Superman can’t take kryptonite. Wonder Woman can never go home again. The list goes on, and on.

Still, we all want to be Batman. We want to be the one they send that signal for. We want to save something (if it’s only our faces). We want to fix even the un-fixable. 

But there’s something to be said for limits, and the ones who play supporting roles. It can get a bit chilly in that spotlight, and waiting for beacons doesn’t get a girl much sleep.

So, while everybody wants to be Batman, I think we’re more like his butler (Alfred) than we let on: constant; competent; observant, and reassuring. And his own hero, in that supporting role.