They did not have a cape or shiny boots or a mask to hide their identity. They wore jeans that cuffed up a few times at the bottom, shirts decorated with delicate pastel colors and sport sneakers, but only fashionable ones. They were raw and regular and hidden among us normal people here on Earth. They could not fly or shoot lasers from their eyes or manipulate the ground.
But they were indestructible.
[And, like many other superheroes, it took me far too long to see them.]
One day, in my senior year of high school, I saw my mother cry. I am not talking about the type of crying you see your mom do when a Nicholas Sparks romance movie marathon is on the television, I mean the type of crying where she held me close, collapsed into my shoulder and shrunk down to a size unimaginable. For the first time in my life, I could physically see the weights stacked on her shoulders and, as if I were paralyzed by the villain, I was overwhelmed by the confusion and desperation of how to remove them or hide them or do anything to get my superhero back in the skies.
Something starkly memorable to me about this time is how much I forget about it. Sometimes people ask me why she was crying or what happened before this moment and, as if I blocked it out on purpose, I don’t remember. In all honesty, it did not matter. As children, we rarely see our parents as much more than a ride to our friends’ houses and the person who puts band-aids on our knees when we scrape them. Imagine if we could see a physical counter of the number of times we have called for our parents. Perhaps we need help with our math homework or we forgot a towel in the shower or our sisters are pissing us off. Sometimes we call for our parents when we have a nightmare or are scared of rejection from a college or we lose our significant other to a nasty teenage break-up. Regardless of the situations you can think of, I can never remember a time that I called for my parents and they were not there – especially my mother. But, I had never been in a spot where my parents had called for me and I am eternally grateful that, in that moment, she did.
With a father who traveled a lot for work while I was growing up (a remarkable man who deserves a book all for himself) my mother did most of the work around the house. I had no idea how she did it. Our lunches were ready every morning and my favorite pants were always clean and there never seemed to be a line of dust along the banister to the stairs, which fascinated me and also slightly convinced me that dust does not exist. But, sometimes, she was late to pick us up from rehearsal. The chicken was not taken out of the freezer in the morning and the dog needed a bath and she was spending more time focusing on one daughter and not enough on me. I would sit and question: ‘Why did she mess this one thing up? This was important. Doesn’t she understand?’ because, after all, our parents were unstoppable, no? They were supposed to do everything right. They were perfect.
Boy, was I wrong.
As I sat on that small maroon couch, two arms around my mother, only the sounds of her breathing and the grandfather clock at the top of the stairs ticking in the room, I felt the weakest I had ever felt. What was I supposed to do? How could I bandage her wounds? Parents felt sadness and stress? Does she know that I’m here, or am I invisible? Have I told her recently that I’m grateful for her and that I love her and that she is my hero? The answer to that last one was no.
See, what this day taught me the most about superheroes is that they are a lot like Santa Claus from the movie Elf. The more you stop believing in a superhero, the weaker they become. How can a superhero protect and serve without trust and support from the people they are trying to defend? Where is the reward? Where is the affirmation that they are super enough of a superhero? So, at a loss for answers, I just sat there. We did not say much, we did not discuss it much after that day, we went back to normal in the blink of an eye as if the whole thing was a dream. However, I started saying thank you more often. I started trying to offer a hand more frequently and express my appreciation for the small victories throughout the day. She was still invincible to me, she just needed some care in return, and that is something I will hold on to the rest of my life.
I mean, this was my superhero, and what is any good superhero without a sidekick?
I love you mama. Thank you for it all.