FOREVER AGO
Me: Leo, what do you want to be for Halloween?Leo: Batman.
Me: (silence, sideways glance)
Leo: (not joking)
Me: (dubious glare)
Leo: (still not joking)
Me: You mean Superman. Right, bubs?
Leo: Batman.
Me: (silence)
LESS FOREVERY AGO
Me: Leo, what do you want to be for Halloween? SUPERMAN??! He flies! He runs way fast! He has a red cape!
Leo: Superman
Me: YES!
Leo: I mean Batman.
Me: Superman
Leo: No, Batman.
Me: Bu..
Leo: BATMAN.
It's no secret that I love a good tradition. If I were a song in "Fiddler On The Roof", I would be "Tradition!" If I were a value, I would be a traditional value. If I were part of a secret covert ops group, my specialty would be exTRADITION. You get the idea.
When I was Leo's age, I wore a Halloween costume my mom made. This bright royal blue turtleneck with little ribs that are like the carbon dating of clothes from the 70s, more accurate than tree rings and sedimentary rock layers. A big red and yellow felt S sewed to the chest. A pair of tiny red shorts with a thick yellow waistband playing the role of "belt." And of course a red cape that has surely flown its share of skies. I worshipped that costume, as kids tend to do, overwearing them to the point of stink, shred, or all of the above.
Somehow, this particular costume made it through all of my brothers and started getting worn by my nieces and nephews. So, this year being the only year it could possibly fit my little bowling ball of a kid, I was hellbent, bending hell, helling bends. Leo was gonna be Superman. He was gonna be part of the Jacobsen Family Ribbed Turtleneck Homemade Superman chain. It would be momentous. It would be historic. It would be dripping with family tradition. It would bring a tear to your nostalgic eyes, all that tender-loving handstitching from the 70s holding together generations, this hero from a long-gone more innocent America. It was gonna be perfect.
Except for one tiny little thing.
"Batman, daddy."
Leo would even sing the song from the old show (duh nuh, nuh nuh, nuh nuh, nuh nuh, duh nuh, nuh nuh, nuh, nuh, nuh....BATMAN!!!) which has to be at least in the running for the most adorable way to rip your father's heart from his chest.
Reverse psychology failing, negotiations proving useless and the purchase of a Superman action figure failing, I desperately opted to see what would happen if I went with the flow. You know, run with his Batman obsession, see if maybe I could help accelerate the Caped Crusader phase towards its end and maybe have him land back on Superman. It was a long shot. But I had to try.
(This might be a good time to note: this is not a Batman vs. Superman rant. Years ago, I was known to be resolutely on the Superman side, but Christopher Nolan and years of therapy have helped me come down on the side of Batman a little more. But, no, this is not about that. This? This is about Tradition vs. Costume Of The Week. Of course, there must be some of you who are decrying the way I'm bullying my child into the costume I want him to wear. To which I say, Yeah, Sort Of. There will never be another year that I will care what Leo is for Halloween. Just this one. And, in the future, he will be more apt to remember that his dad WOULDN'T let him be what he wanted to be. Trust me. It's just this year. It's history. It's family. It's tradition. Lay off, geeeez.)
But my efforts were in vain. Somewhere, the kid got a mind of his own. By the end, I had dejectedly settled on being content with just getting a photo of the kid in the costume. I was not happy about it, but - if that was the only way to be a link in the Jacobsen Family Ribbed Turtleneck Homemade Superman chain- it would have to do.
Holly, a more attuned-to-what-the-kid-actually-wants-in-the-real-world parent, was making an amazing Batman costume– homemade felt logos, a cape with the (scalloped) bottom edge, a yellow Bat utility belt, the works. (Fret not. Photos to come.)
Then, 15 minutes before Thursday's trunk-or-treat at the church, Leo suddenly flip-flopped, "Superman." Holly, having slaved over this new Batman cape/mask combo, was understandably a little perturbed. "No. Batman," she said to him in a way that should've been very familiar to him, the Michael Jordan of those two accursed words. "SUPERMAN," he fires back, "I don't like the new cape." He was wrong about the cape, but I was secretly stoked that Superman was finally back on the table. OK. Not so secretly.
We had no blue tights or even thermals. No shiny red boots. So I dug up some blue (navy, not royal) sweats, stuck 'em on under the red/yellow shorts, threw on his red/yellow Crocs* and off we went. Me, Superman, and Bat Baby.
He raised his arms victoriously towards the sky as if to fly away, mirroring my precise sentiments. "It's a bird! It's a airplane!" he chanted ecstatically. Which has to at least be in the running for the most adorable way to simultaneously melt your father's heart back into his chest and use shoddy toddler grammar.
Who was happier? Me or Leo? Hard to quantify. But look at these photos. And just know that I was EASILY as happy as him, even if my face doesn't sell it quite like his does.
I took him over to see my mom, maker of the suit. Just so that the circle of tradition could fully complete itself, like Rene Zellwegger completing Tom Cruise in that one movie. But minus the weird perpetual half-squinting face. It was historic. It was dripping with family tradition. It brought a tear to these nostalgic eyes, all that tender-loving handstitching from the 70s holding together generations. It was perfect.
Tradition, folks. Tradition.
THE NEXT DAY
Me: Leo, you were an amazing Superman! What do you wanna be for Halloween?
Leo: Batman.
Me: But you were such a great Superman, man!
Leo: Batman, daddy. Batman.
Me: (accepting moral victory) Yes, Leo. Batman.
* Yes, my kid wears Crocs. Well, fake Crocs. But still. Go bother somebody else with your toddler couture.
Oh yeah, this is Paul signed in as Holly. Again.
