Watching Superman Become Mortal
I’m 26 and judging by the date on the calendar, 27 isn’t too far away. The 20 - 30 year old age gap feels like it passed by the the ferocity of a drag race from Fast & Furious, whereas the 10 - 20 year old age gap proceeded at a snail’s pace. What I notice most about aging, however, aren’t the changes that are happening to me, rather the changes are that occurring to others. Most notably my parents.
I have not experienced life without both of my parents and despite my angst and mild parental resentment as a teen, I’m extremely thankful to have had them for the last 26ish years. I know a lot of kids and former kids aren’t as fortunate and did not/do not have this experience.
But yes, my parents. Growing up, my Mom was the educator, disciplinarian, and guiding light to a certain degree. My brother and I would not have the career trajectories we have right now without her sacrifices. Having said that, my Dad was the bedrock of the family. Without him, I don’t know if we would’ve been able to survive. Dad, himself suffering from the loss of a parent at a very young age, is a quiet man but a softy. He’s always been this way. Growing up, if any of us encountered a problem, we could count on Dad to help out. Dad could work an 18 hour shift at work for several days straight and still come home to take care of a sick family. He shrugged of illnesses like Marion Barber III shrugged defenders off in his prime (yep, I put that in there). It seemed like nothing could hurt him...sure, he’d feel the normal human emotions of sadness and anger (most people do when dealing with me), but it appeared as if nothing could faze him from a physical standpoint.
Until 2017.
25+ years of working a blue-collar job will eventually take its toll on you. For my Dad, that came in the form of a hernia. It wasn’t minor enough to avoid surgery, but not major enough to undergo an emergency procedure. Dad was a little nervous because this was his first time going through any sort of medical procedure, but he was assured that this was a simple procedure with very little risk associated with it. He calmed down a good bit. After the initial diagnosis, we waited a few weeks and Dad successfully underwent his “hernia repair” in late-January of 2017.
Because this was an outpatient procedure, and because my Mom and brother were occupied with work and college respectively, I had taken the day off to be with my Dad at the hospital. Upon completion of the procedure, the nurse came to the waiting room to bring me back to Dad. When I got there, he was still sleeping from the anesthesia. Another nurse came by to drop off some juice and pudding that Dad could eat once he was awake.
After about 15 minutes, Dad woke up on his own and managed a small smile when he saw me sitting next to him, reminiscent of a baby seeing a parent after an extended period of time. He remarked that the procedure felt like it happened in the blink of an eye since it felt like he just fell under the effects of anesthesia 5 minutes. I informed him that it had been 2 ½ hours since I last saw him.
He mentioned that he was a little thirsty and hungry, and remembering that the nurse had brought over some juice and pudding, I placed it on his table. The effect of the anesthesia still hadn’t worn off and he was feeling weak overall, so I helped him drink from the juice bottle and fed him the pudding with a spoon.
And that’s when it hit really hard. A lump formed in my throat and I forced myself to hold back tears. Why you ask? Because this was Superman and Superman didn’t need help from anyone. I shouldn’t be feeding him, that’s something he would do for me! But here he was, as vulnerable and as defenseless as a small child. He needed my help to do something as simple as eating and drinking. The unfamiliarity of the situation was deeply unsettling and frightening.
Dad recovered 100% and is back to his old ways, granted with less emphasis on lifting heavy objects. Dad might’ve recovered, but I don’t think I’m quite healed from having to see him like that. And the more that I think about it, the more I realize it wasn’t his vulnerability that stung me so deeply. It was my own: I had to face the reality that there would one day be a future without him and my Mom. There will be a day where Tobin would have to make decisions regarding marriage, fatherhood, and the future without the support and reassurance of his original team behind him. There will be a day when the last ties to Dad and Mom are memories of them that live on in the hearts and minds of those who loved them dearly.
What does this mean? It means I’ll invest my money in Lazarus Pits (essentially a pool that grants you immortality for you non-Batman folks). If that doesn't workout, then I’ll invest my time in creating new memories with my parents while they’re still around. Argue with them less and laugh with them more. Because life comes at you fast.