At my coffee shop the other morning, this man and his son came in. The boy was probably 3 or 4. He was carrying a baggie full of action figures. Dad sat down in one of the overstuffed chairs, and his son knelt in front of the other overstuffed chair and dumped out his action figures in the seat cushion and began playing with them. He took one of them—I could tell it was Hawkeye from the Avengers; I was a Marvel Man when I was a kid—and began swooping him around, making fooshing sounds, which is totally not canon, as Hawkeye can’t fly.
I went back to my writing amidst all the fooshing. No problem. I cut my teeth writing in newsrooms. I can write in the middle of a Shriner convention.
Eventually, I went outside to get a breath of fresh air. Soon enough, the dad and his son came out.
“Whatcha got there?” I asked. “The Avengers?”
“They’re not the Avengers!” he cried.
“Oh, but they’re superheroes, right?” I followed up.
“They’re not superheroes!” he insisted.
His dad smiled at me. “Well, then, what are they?” his dad asked.
“They’re my guys!”
Photo: Captain America by ETJ/Photography CC BY 2.0