As part of a Father’s Day craft, my six-year-old was asked a series of questions about his father which someone transcribed onto a piece of paper which my son decorated with stickers and his handwritten name.<\/p>\n
He got the name and age right for me, and for my job, he answered “Office” which is a pretty fair description as I am not a professional hockey player.<\/p>\n
However, when asked the question If my Dad was a superhero he would be<\/strong>[sic]<\/em>, my son replied Robin<\/strong>.<\/p>\n Now, it’s bad enough that my son did not choose a respectable Marvel<\/em> superhero like Spider-Man, The Thing, Iron Man, Captain America, Quasar, or Speedball. No, he chose a DC<\/em> superhero.<\/p>\n Worse, he chose a sidekick. A DC<\/em> sidekick, I’d like to add. Not a respectable Marvel sidekick like Nomad, the Falcon, or Bucky.<\/p>\n But the unkindest cut of all: My children know who Nightwing<\/a> is.<\/em><\/p>\n That’s right.<\/p>\n Not only am I a DC sidekick, albeit the best known sidekick in the entire DC galaxy (I refuse to call it a universe<\/em> or mythos<\/em> (which I call the Marvel milieu to put it on par with Greek, Roman, Egyptian, and Norse mythologies, all of which the Marvel mythos has subsumed)).<\/p>\n