CREEK ROAD GANG
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The End of Superman
David B. Tick
copyright 2004
It was any hot day in July of 1958, and the burning sand scorched our little feet, which made us wonder why our mothers didn’t situate the beach chairs closer to the cooler hard sand near the water. Most families would arrive at the beach just after 8:00 a.m. and stay the entire day, sometimes until after 7:00 p.m. My mother would always pack a wonderful lunch of sandwiches, drinks, grapes, cherries and cookies. We lived close to the beach on a side street that was perpendicular to the shore drive known as “The Crest.” Years later, our little town would become well known during the 1980 Olympics when a hometown hero scored the winning goal against the Russians.
During that summer in 1958, I was totally consumed with the most famous person in not just the world, but also in the universe. He was more than a man, and he epitomized everything that I aspired to be, living in my heart as a symbol of “truth, justice, and the American way.” Whenever I was at the beach during that summer, I couldn’t wait to put a towel around my neck and run into the wind. My towel would then blow like a cape — like the cape of Superman. Superman was not just some fictitious character on television played by George Reeves, nor was he just a comic book hero from the hundreds of comic books that we would read at the local barbershop on Shirley Street. Superman was like a god, and he was far more impressive than any Atlas or Nike missile of the Cold War.
Every Superman wanted a Lois Lane, but I was lucky enough to have Superwoman. She was six years old and my first girlfriend. She would come for the summer with her family, like many other families who escaped the oppressive city heat, and they would live in a cottage near our house for two months. Our parents remained very good friends throughout the years.
One of my favorite memories of that summer was going to a restaurant known as The Spray, which was at the top of the street and directly across from the beach. We would sit on the sea wall and feast on fried clams, shrimp rolls, hot dogs, burgers, and fries. At least once a week, we would also go digging for clams and then steam them up with some butter and salt. Nearby where we would dig, the jetties were almost totally covered with mussels, which looked disgusting to us. If only we had known that great meals were at our fingertips, and it is only now that I understand why the seagulls loved them so much.
Of course, like in most towns, the ice cream man would visit our streets on a daily basis. Occasionally, the fruit man would drive his truck up and down the streets during the afternoon while his brother walked very slowly behind the truck calling out, “Peaches...peaches.” He had a booming monotone voice and a huge overhanging belly. We really enjoyed imitating him and how he would hold out the “pee…” sound in peaches.
Another vivid memory for me was how the sun showers seemed to be so much more intense than they are today. The sky would darken while we were at the beach, and then everyone would fold up their beach chairs and leave en masse. The place would become deserted within a few minutes, and then an incredible downpour would ensue. When the rains ended, everyone would return to the beach and just gaze at the rainbow, which filled the sky from one end of the horizon to the other. Although we were disappointed about having to leave the beach because of a storm, the rainbows would always make it worth it when we returned.
On a typical day, something happened to me that would probably seem insignificant to most people–to most people who were not six years old. I had just come out of the water with blue lips and a shivering body so that I could change into something dry, and my mother held a beach towel around me as I slipped into another bathing suit. I then put on my cape (towel) and ran close to the water’s edge to build a sand castle with the other kids. We would dig underground tunnels to let the water into the moat of the castle, and then control the water’s flow until the inevitable collapse and final destruction of our creation as the high tide came in. With my cape blowing in the ocean filled breeze, I felt like Superman. I was Superman. The blazing sun warmed my bones, and it’s a feeling that I can still remember after all these years.
I ran back to our area in the dry hot sand, and a woman in our group of families was talking to my mother. Apparently, this woman had said to my mother that I was “some kind of Superman with my skinny little legs.” For the first time, I heard an opinion of me other than from my own internal perspective, and it was given by someone from outside of the family, which made it even more traumatic. Her comment made me feel embarrassed, almost humiliated. Of course I knew that I really wasn’t Superman, but why did she have to say something like that? Why did she have to say anything about me at all?
From that day forward, my mother would question me as to why I refused to even acknowledge that woman or her daughter, who also happened to be friends with Superwoman. The woman could not understand why I would not even look in her direction whenever she was close by. What she did not realize was that when I did look at her, it was painful because I saw myself as she saw me — a vulnerable little boy with tears in his eyes, and not Superman at all. I really felt no true animosity towards her, yet what she may have learned from the experience was that this Superman really did have some powers — including the power to hold back affection. Still, I never put on my cape again.
During that summer in 1958, I was totally consumed with the most famous person in not just the world, but also in the universe. He was more than a man, and he epitomized everything that I aspired to be, living in my heart as a symbol of “truth, justice, and the American way.” Whenever I was at the beach during that summer, I couldn’t wait to put a towel around my neck and run into the wind. My towel would then blow like a cape — like the cape of Superman. Superman was not just some fictitious character on television played by George Reeves, nor was he just a comic book hero from the hundreds of comic books that we would read at the local barbershop on Shirley Street. Superman was like a god, and he was far more impressive than any Atlas or Nike missile of the Cold War.
Every Superman wanted a Lois Lane, but I was lucky enough to have Superwoman. She was six years old and my first girlfriend. She would come for the summer with her family, like many other families who escaped the oppressive city heat, and they would live in a cottage near our house for two months. Our parents remained very good friends throughout the years.
One of my favorite memories of that summer was going to a restaurant known as The Spray, which was at the top of the street and directly across from the beach. We would sit on the sea wall and feast on fried clams, shrimp rolls, hot dogs, burgers, and fries. At least once a week, we would also go digging for clams and then steam them up with some butter and salt. Nearby where we would dig, the jetties were almost totally covered with mussels, which looked disgusting to us. If only we had known that great meals were at our fingertips, and it is only now that I understand why the seagulls loved them so much.
Of course, like in most towns, the ice cream man would visit our streets on a daily basis. Occasionally, the fruit man would drive his truck up and down the streets during the afternoon while his brother walked very slowly behind the truck calling out, “Peaches...peaches.” He had a booming monotone voice and a huge overhanging belly. We really enjoyed imitating him and how he would hold out the “pee…” sound in peaches.
Another vivid memory for me was how the sun showers seemed to be so much more intense than they are today. The sky would darken while we were at the beach, and then everyone would fold up their beach chairs and leave en masse. The place would become deserted within a few minutes, and then an incredible downpour would ensue. When the rains ended, everyone would return to the beach and just gaze at the rainbow, which filled the sky from one end of the horizon to the other. Although we were disappointed about having to leave the beach because of a storm, the rainbows would always make it worth it when we returned.
On a typical day, something happened to me that would probably seem insignificant to most people–to most people who were not six years old. I had just come out of the water with blue lips and a shivering body so that I could change into something dry, and my mother held a beach towel around me as I slipped into another bathing suit. I then put on my cape (towel) and ran close to the water’s edge to build a sand castle with the other kids. We would dig underground tunnels to let the water into the moat of the castle, and then control the water’s flow until the inevitable collapse and final destruction of our creation as the high tide came in. With my cape blowing in the ocean filled breeze, I felt like Superman. I was Superman. The blazing sun warmed my bones, and it’s a feeling that I can still remember after all these years.
I ran back to our area in the dry hot sand, and a woman in our group of families was talking to my mother. Apparently, this woman had said to my mother that I was “some kind of Superman with my skinny little legs.” For the first time, I heard an opinion of me other than from my own internal perspective, and it was given by someone from outside of the family, which made it even more traumatic. Her comment made me feel embarrassed, almost humiliated. Of course I knew that I really wasn’t Superman, but why did she have to say something like that? Why did she have to say anything about me at all?
From that day forward, my mother would question me as to why I refused to even acknowledge that woman or her daughter, who also happened to be friends with Superwoman. The woman could not understand why I would not even look in her direction whenever she was close by. What she did not realize was that when I did look at her, it was painful because I saw myself as she saw me — a vulnerable little boy with tears in his eyes, and not Superman at all. I really felt no true animosity towards her, yet what she may have learned from the experience was that this Superman really did have some powers — including the power to hold back affection. Still, I never put on my cape again.
* * *
Biographical Note: David Tick is a writing teacher in the Boston area who specializes in expressive language skills in both writing and speaking. To better connect with his students about personal choices and decisions that people make, David wrote a book of short stories, which also included critical and creative thinking questions for analysis and discussion. He has kindly allowed us to publish here his story "The End of Superman," from his 2004 book, The End of Superman and Other Stories. He is also a musician with many performing credits, as well as an accomplished composer. David's favorite author is Caroline Myss: Anatomy of the Spirit and Defy Gravity.To view David's links, go to www.lunatick.us and click on the images to navigate the site.
Photograph by Diane Hayes
