“Supergirl! To the rescue!” Mia announced, her voice a sing-song announcement of her new catchphrase. She sounded like the announcer on a 1940s radio serial. For the past four days, she has asked to be referred to by the name of her (as yet uncostumed) crime-fighter. She has eaten vegetables and refused fried food. (“Superheroes have to be healthy.”) Most impressively, she has been more responsible with her chores, because it’s proof that she can “rescue” people.
I don’t know what brought this on. (I mean, we’ve been watching bad Faye Dunaway, but it was Mommie Dearest, not Supergirl.) Not that I mind. I’m just curious as to why she would suddenly seem to be so firmly on the side of Truth, Justice, and the American Way. Is it the approach of her fourth birthday?
Of course, like the Man of Steel, she did come to us from a far-away land, bringing us the family we didn’t have before. This isn’t quite Smallville, but, hey, Vietnam isn’t quite Krypton, either. And while she has never kept a truck from falling on me, she is able to leap Ian’s building-block towers in a single bound.
Unfortunately, she told me that she wants to grow up so she can learn to fly. I suppose I will have to tell her that being grown-up isn’t that sweet. I will have to teach her some lesser superpowers, like building a Dutch Oven (to immobilize your enemies), or Interpreting Infinite Jest (to impress the Commissioner and the Mayor with your intellect). These are less useful than flying, admittedly, but unless she has some Vietnamese crystals that will build her a socialist Fortress of Solitude, it’s the best she’s going to get.