“BATMAN STORY! BATMAN STORY!”
“Alright, alright. Just a short one tonight. What one do you want to hear?”
I watched as she snuggled down into the sheets, pulling them up to her nose. Her eyes darted to the left and right as she contemplated a new adventure. She was laying the ground work and I was about create the house.
My favourite time of the day – bed time.
And all the parents said……
“Tell when Batman, Iron Man, Black Panther and Superman went to the grocery store.” She asked.
DC and Marvel mixed together. It’s like mixing Coke and Pepsi. Sacrilegious.
In her mind – a beautiful symphony of her favourite superheroes.
Todays blog won’t keep you long, but I hope it will keep you entertained. Sit back and enjoy a tale from the wacky story world of The Eason Clan.
*POW* *CRACK* *WHAM*
PLEASE BE ADVISED: This story is NOT like the 1966 Batman TV show staring Adam West and Burt Ward, however it’s just a corny (I wish I had shark repellant) and totally made up. Nothing makes sense.
HOLY SHARK BITE BATMAN
The Grocery Store Rumble
“It was a normal day in superhero town. Batman was walking down the vegetable isle at the grocery store, searching for his favourite snack- bananas.
As he searched for the perfect yellow banana with black spots, a loud bang came from the ceiling above him. With lightning reflexes he dodged an incoming melon thrown by his arch nemesis.
“That’s the last banana you’ll ever eat Batman…NO BANANA FOR YOU!” his voice boomed from his suit.
*Pew Pew Pew*
No daddddd, Ironman didn’t fire his lasers.
Batman leapt into the air, dodging the melon, and kicked Iron Man right in the nose! He came down hard on his legs, brought his fist up and clocked em!
And then something happened that no one expected!
Black Panther showed up!
“You there! Today you face a true warrior. The Black Panther, King of Wakanda!”
He leapt through the air, claws extended….
Daddy, I want to hear when they went camping…not the grocery store, that’s boring.
One day, Batman, Iron Man, Black Panther and Superman got on a boat and went sailing. They got caught in a huge storm, and their boat was shipwrecked on an island. All they had to eat was….marshmallows.
Yes, really. So they ate marshmallows on a stick, marshmallow soup, marshmallow patties. EVERYTHING WAS MARSHMALLOWS.
Dad, can you turn off my light now?
I reached for the flower light on the wall and hit the switch. The room went dark, besides a little night light close to the floor. After I kissed my daughter goodnight and left her bedroom, I was reminded of how as a child, I felt so secure in my home with my parents.
“This will always be your home.”
Growing up I saw my father as a wall of protection. No one (and I still believe to this day) could enter the home without him allowing it. My Mother? A comforter. I remember many nights, lying in my bed afraid of the sounds outdoors. Whether it was the wind making the house creak or the tree branches from the big Blue Spruce scrapping on the siding. I would hurry from my bedroom, down the hall and stand up by the side of my parents bed – holding my Mickey Mouse in my arms – waiting for my mothers eye to open, so I could snuggle into the bed with them.
I treasure those memories of comfort, protection, and security. I needed to feel safe. Every child needs to feel safe. I thank God that I grew up in a home with parents who loved me and my brother.
As a father, when I hear one of my children cry out in the night, I race to their bedroom.
Which reminds me of a true story.
One night in the dead of winter (I was around 15 years old) I was awakened by a loud boom followed by a green flash of light that lit up my bedroom.
I then heard a long, drawn out voice from outdoors, “Daddddd….Dadddddd.” It was a young males voice, and he sounded desperate. The call became louder and more shrill, “DADDDD! DADDD!”
I was frozen in my bed terrified.
Then something happened that I’ll never forget. I heard my father jump out of bed and rush down the stairs, followed by my mother asking what was wrong.
“JOSHUA HIT THE POLE!” he yelled.
“WHAT!?” my mother called.
I pulled myself from my bed and went to my bedroom window, and saw my father rushing through about 100ft of knee high snow towards the road. There across the road from our front lawn was a small car down in the marsh, which had collided with a powerline pole.
My legs became weak at the thought of my brother involved in a collision and I could barely stand. My fathers voice was calling out in response to cries from the car, it still brings tears to my eyes as I write this, over 16 years later.
The cry of a father.
The love of a father, barreling through the snow towards the scene.
I’ll start to wind down my story, because my memory starts to fade for the rest. I can tell you the rest from what my father told us after. Thankfully it was not my brother in the car, rather it was a young man and his girlfriend who had struck the pole. My father hauled them from the vehicle and they were okay. The same couldn’t be said for the car, but what is a car worth compared to a life?
Today I leave you with this: whether it is a father telling made up superhero stories by the side of a bed, a mother taking in her frightened child in the night or true stories of a father’s devotion, the love of a parent has no bounds.