When I was a kid and was lost in a place between boyhood and adolescence and the sweetness of childhood was leaking out through the cracks of the world leaving ever expanding drying pools of reality…
When I was a kid and the lines became blurred, and the blacks and whites swirled together into a tapestry of grey like a fog, and that fog was called the future and I walked towards it on tepid feet…
There was only one man. One man who I could always look up to. One man who knew right from wrong, who knew pain and loss and who, in spite of his fear, would never stray from the path he had set for himself. There was only one man who was strong, and kind, and good, and who, in spite of his recriminations and self doubt, always stood up for what he believed in.
I wanted to be that man.
I had his weaknesses, his fear, his uncertainty and his loneliness, but I wanted his strengths: His unwavering belief in the goodness of people, his inflexible sense of responsibility, and his ability to never back down…
And, of course, the proportionate strength, speed, and agility of a spider.
When I was a kid, Spider-Man was my hero.
I fancied myself a Peter Parker of sorts. Mild mannered, small and inconspicuous, but hiding in plain sight, waiting for a chance to be something more.
Pete was always a loner in the beginning, always outside the crowd looking in. Always silent and insecure. But when the mask went on, Peter Parker melted away. He became the joke cracking, high flying hero. A whirlwind, all bright colors and speed. Not only would he put the bad guys down, he’d do it while talking their ear off at the same time. He had so much to say, Pete did, but he couldn’t say it any other time. I don’t even think he knew he was so funny until he got bitten by that spider.
I loved that about him. Loved the fact that maybe, just maybe, what I was wasn’t all that I was. Somewhere beneath my mild mannered façade, maybe there too lived a hero, a funny guy. Someone people looked up to, someone they respected.
But I was a Peter Parker without a Spider-Man. I was just me. I couldn’t blow off steam by swinging around Manhattan or beating up bad guys, so I settled for reading about Spidey. I would daydream for hours that I could do all the things he could: dive between skyscrapers with confident abandon, dodge bullets like punches, smiling all the while. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t do any of those things. I was too young to even have control of my own life, and too unfocused to know what to do with it if I did. Heck, I still am.
So I played Spider-Man in my head. Always looking up, plotting the angles, always diving through the sky in my mind.
I’m older now, and while I still love comics, possibly even more than I used to, the world that Spider-Man lives in is just too far from my own to draw me in like it once did. I’m still like Peter in my own ways, but more like the older, grown-up version of him (minus the supermodel wife). No more glasses, no more awkward shyness, and more of that Spider-Man charm leaking through into his life than ever before.
I’m satisfied with that. Spider-Man got me through the hard time that all kids go through on their way to whatever they’ll become. He was an escape, sure, but he was also a friend and a role model when I didn’t know where to look for either. And while now I’ve got both, I know that I owe some of who I am to Peter Parker and his secret identity that I took for myself.
I don’t daydream nearly as much as i used to, but I still find myself watching the city skies hoping somewhere deep inside that I’ll catch a glimpse. Even now, despite all the reality I’ve been pumped full of, it’s hard for me to imagine a New York City without a Spider-Man.
He’s not out there in the real world, but he is in mine, quick with a quip and a web, as ever. So when I look up it’s not as mild mannered Peter Parker, it’s as Spider-Man, and the city is my playground.
And I’m a hero.
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