I AM NOT INTO PERFECT PEOPLE WHO DO PERFECT THINGS….


I am not into perfect people who do perfect things

I am not into perfect people who do perfect things, the ones who always fly around the world with a cape and a smile.  Superheros with large followings of admirers who get impressed with how they save the world does nothing for me.  So what, you can melt steel with your heat ray  from your eyes.   So what, you can turn back time by flying around the world at speeds faster than the speed of sound and light.  So what, you can freeze the earth with your icy breath.  So what, you can peer behind walls with your x-ray vision.  If the rest of us were from Krypton, got our powers from the sun, were raised on Iowa wheat and corn, had alien-geniuses as parents and perfect-loving human-parents that adopted us after being sent to earth in a spaceship, then we could all do that perfect superhero stuff too.  Once again, perfect people doing perfect things does nothing for me.  

(And yes, I know he, he being superman for those of you not hip to the superman reference, had some serious father-son issues, but really, I mean really, in the larger scope of things, Superman is about as perfect as they come, especially when compared to the rest of us, or at least the rest of us that are like me)

GIve me the imperfect people who do beautiful things, acts of humanity so insanely powerful that they leave you believing that we as a people actually have a chance to get shit right.  I am more of a Batman kind of a guy.  I like his dark moods, his profound anguish, his raging need for vengeance.  I like the fact that he lives in a bat cave most of the time though most people believe he lives in the mansion on the hill.  I like how he sometimes goes overboard in his superhero job, sometimes taking the whole stopping the bad guy thing too far.  Even how he has failed relationships more times than not seems real as hell to me.  And more than anything else, I love how his only superpower is his frailty as a human being, his inability, and I believe his desire, to not be anything near perfect.  He just wants to take out his anger about his parents being killed on the world of bad people and if that makes the world a better place then so be it, but if it doesn’t, then so be that as well!

And yes, I know some might say he is super intelligent and shit, but I don’t think that his intelligence is his superpower.  I believe he is just super pissed is all, and that unlike most people who try to pretend they are happy and perfect all the damn time, he doesn’t try to pretend to anyone about anything (excluding pretending to be Bruce Wayne of course).  And if you really follow Batman then you know that even Bruce Wayne, his alter ego, has an edge to him that lets the world know that I will never be and never even want to be Superman to the world.

Hanging with my dad lately in his world of former drug addicts and, according to the rules of his world, forever-alcoholics, has reminded me just how much I love imperfect people, the batmen and batwomen of the world.  He has sponsees who have been clean for years and some for weeks, people who have not touched liquor for decades and some for days, insanely imperfect people who come to see him, come to feed him, come to clean his room, come to do his laundry, come to talk with him, come to chill with him and or come to just BE with him.  Many of these people, especially the ones who relapse every once in awhile, and end up homeless for a few months on the streets, because the alcohol has given them bouts of insanity, do such beautiful acts of kindness for my father, when they are sober and sometimes even when they are not, that if I shared these stories, the stories of these kind acts, with you, they would leave you loving batpeople as much as I do.  Also, hearing how they became batpeople will also leave you understanding why when they save the world, it means so much more than when superman does his superman save the world act.

One sponsee who was with my dad and I one day told me his story about his childhood.  I won’t share all of it because it is not mine to share, but I will share a part just to make you understand. He said he was once sent to live in a home for children with “issues” and that their way of punishing kids who did not listen was to lock them in a dark room for hours on end, with no food, naked, and just leave them there.  

There was more to the story, but I don’t think you need to hear more to get the point.  And so he emerged as messed up as my dad.  Of course, the other parts of his story growing up were also as messed up as it could be, but I figured that if you can see that child in that room without any clothes on, hungry, alone, scared, that maybe, just maybe you can get the point.  And if you can’t, then this blog is not for you.

And since I don’t want my entire life to center around my sick dad, there is this story.  When I was a teenager, I had a fight in front of Julian’s Pool hall in the city, a piss and chalk stinking place right off of Union Square in Manhattan that used to be the spot for kids like me, kids more into pool than Atari.  Some guy and I were going at it, really doing our stupid teenage-idiot thing, blow for blow, tough look for tough look, when his friend, friend of the kid I was fighting, decided he was going to step in and kick my ass after I knocked his friend down.  And then, just like out of a batman comic book, a dark hand that had fingers as long as ropes and an arm attached to it thicker than a frigging tree trunk, held on to his shoulder and stopped him, the him being a giant-kid with no neck that was going to kill me.  The man whose hand saved me and scared the giant-kid to death belonged to a homeless man who had been watching us fight from his cardboard box on the street.  He told the kid as he held him down with that one hand, that this was not his fight and if he wanted to live, he better walk away in a direction no where near the direction I was going.  If not for that homeless man, I would have been stomped on several times over than night.

As for the man who was once that kid crying in that dark room from morning to night, when he is sober, he takes care of my dad with so much love and care that you would think my father is his father by these many acts of kindness.  Because he says that it’s my father who saved him many times in the past and keeps saving him no matter how many times he falls.  A batman looking out for another batman. Interesting, don’t you think.

So give me the Batmen of the world please, the crazy people who hardly ever get life right, the homeless people who are living in cardboard boxes, the addicts crawling through the shadows, the alcoholics drinking through their pain, the many people of the world so messed up by the world that they don’t get to be perfect people like the supermen and superwomen of the world.

And if nothing else, give me the men and women of the world who have been locked in dark rooms long enough to know that no matter how imperfect you are, you are never so imperfect that you cannot love your fellow man.

ALSO, IF THESE WORDS MOVE YOU,  THEN PLEASE LIKE MY JAMERICANWRITER FACEBOOK PAGE (https://www.facebook.com/JamericanWriter/) AT THE BOTTOM OF THIS SCREEN.  I REALLY WANT TO BUILD MY READERSHIP SO I CAN REACH MORE PEOPLE WITH MY WORDS.  ANY HELP YOU CAN GIVE WOULD BE DEEPLY APPRECIATED.  

I would love to hear your thoughts about this post.  Please feel free to leave a comment. You can leave your comment below.

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