Superman, #1, a poem

 Repost:

I was home on leave from Luke Air Force Base at Christmastime, sometime in the early 90s. Vicky and Douglas were still living at home, and--surprisingly--Lana was home,too.  Getting all four of us home at the same time was always a challenge. Perhaps, it was that we were all home that made Daddy get sentimental; but, I remember a conversation we all had sitting in that living room at 422.

Smiling that smile he has when he is happy, Daddy told us that were were each his favorite child. I remember wondering how in the world that was possible when he explained with four stories. I don't remember why Lana and Douglas were his favorite, though I can hazard a guess. Lana was his first born and Douglas was his last born, and only boy. Vicky's reason had something to do with his meeting Mom (step-mom, officially, though--in my heart--complete and total REAL MOM).  

Mine had its start with a play pen.  Some of y'all will be old enough to remember that device. A mother could place her child in it along with several toys and a sippy cup, and the child would play by himself for quite some time. Daddy and Mother had one of those for me when I was still in diapers. It was obviously a usual thing for me to spend the later part of my afternoons in that gizmo because Daddy's favorite moment for me involved the play pen. When he walked in the front door of our home, he would shout a greeting to us.  According to him, every day--when I heard his voice--I would crane my neck back in order to see him.  To me, his voice came from somewhere way up high, as if my Daddy was 12 feet tall--bigger and better and cooler and funnier and more wonderful than any other man alive.  This poem comes from that memory.

Superman # 1 

No matter how old

I get, you'll always be as

tall as the ceiling.