The Boy Wonder

When my son was about three, he went through a Batman phase that lasted several months to a year. He had Batman pajamas and underwear. He had a toy Batmobile, which is still in our basement. He ran around the house singing,

“Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na,
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na,
Na-na-na-na-na-na-na-na,
Batman!”

(Did I do that right? I know some of you out there are counting the “na’s”.)

And his favorite book for awhile was a large coloring book of Batman and Robin, in which the Joker was the villain.

Now, this was a really large coloring book—about three feet tall and two feet wide. Taller than my son at that time. Each page had a sentence or two of the story, combined with huge pictures to color and balloons with the words “POW!” and “BAM!” and “OOF!”

My son wasn’t very interested in coloring the pictures, but he wanted the story read to him every night. Often twice.

Soon he could recite the words himself. I doubt he was really reading it yet, but he knew exactly when to turn the page.

Soon reading the story was not enough. He had to act it out every night with his father. My husband was Batman, and our son was Robin, the Boy Wonder. At that point, the kid was still in the hero worship phase with his dad, so our son didn’t mind being the sidekick rather than the star of the show.

And when my husband got the words wrong, our son corrected him. “No, Dad. It’s Ho-Ho-Ho, not oh-oh-oh.”

The story ended with Batman saying something like, “The joke’s on you, Joker! Leave the driving to us.” With this, Batman catapulted into the car and took the Joker off to jail. (If I’m wrong, Son, I’ll bet you can still correct me. You know all the words to every Seinfeld episode. Surely you remember this coloring book.)

Our son turns thirty-four this weekend. He’s still our Boy Wonder.

Happy Birthday, Son!