Daughter called to see how my final exams were going and to tell me that some friends gave her an action figure of the edgy new Superwoman who happens to bear a striking resemblance to her:
Superdaughter’s hair even used to be blue in college, but those are the thighs of ice-skating saboteur Tonya Harding, I’d bet the rent. On the subject of resemblances, Daughter and I are frequently told how much alike we look, and you can see for yourself from my graphically manipulated picture somewhere on this blog.
Superpowers have always played a role in our family history, from Daughter’s unwavering lifelong devotion to Superman to Son’s fascination with strength and power in every form it was marketed be it Batman, Michael Jordan or Scarface. My part in the family urban legend is that I sometimes get a feeling about something. One night two years ago when Son was home on a college break, I was watching the 11:00 news and there was a newswoman broadcasting from the site of a devastating traffic accident in which a car had been hit from behind and burst into flames. The woman driver perished despite the efforts of several young men who attempted to free her from the burning car.
Parked behind the reporter was a car like Son’s. It wasn’t damaged and it wasn’t the same make as Son’s but it was the same size and color and the connective jolt made me reach for the phone despite the fact that this was all happening miles away. When Son answered his cell I could hear loud noise in the background. I could also hear a woman’s voice strangely in sync with the reporter on TV. “Where are you,” I asked, “and what is that noise?” It was the reporter and crew I was watching on television. Son was standing just out of camera range. He was one of the young men who had tried to save the driver.
The other day I walked into one of my Final Exams and took my usual seat at the long, lab-like table next to my two tablemates. Part of our Final would be one of the cases from our text — we didn’t know which one — and my tablemates had about five of them laid out in front of them doing last minute studying. I told them I had concentrated on the one on page 107 because I had a feeling that was the one we’d see on the test. They asked me why and I said I looked at all of them the night before and that one spoke to me. That was the one I really studied.
The tablemate who sits right next to me said, “It spoke to you? Like with a voice?” I promised her I don’t hear voices and I don’t see dead people; sometimes I just have a feeling. “Like in one of those movies where a person knows things other people don’t?” she asked me, making me wonder if she was thinking Sixth Sense or Rain Man and either way it wasn’t something I’d put on a resume. “Just really look at 107 is all I’m saying.”
We spent the remaining time fixed on that page and then the proctor called out to close our books and started walking around with the tests. She slapped one down in front of each of us and we all turned them over together.
Somebody bought me lunch that day.
More superfotos by Daughter:
lunchbox museum, columbus, georgia
powers on parade, greenwich village, halloween 2006
childhood anti-heroes, the village, halloween 2006
ready for that close-up