I miss having heroes. As a child, I had a lot of them. I had baseball heroes and cowboy heroes and super heroes. I always managed to have a good supply of heroes that I could fantasize about and imagine being my friend–and I even dreamt about being a hero myself.
I dreamt about saving people and flying through the air and catching touchdowns with one hand and climbing the sides of tall buildings and hitting a grand slam in the World Series and making people happy with my super powers, my super human athletic skills and my strong and moral character.
But as you get older you aren’t so naive or dreamy–and your fantasy skills are weak or non-existent. You tend to be more realistic. You become more skeptical and critical and you don’t have it in your heart to believe in heroes. You may like some sports stars or actors, and even have a favorite superhero, but you don’t try to imitate them and you certainly don’t dream about them.
When you get older, especially middle age, you are expected to be reasonable and rational and you stop believing in super heroes like Batman, Superman, Santa Claus, and the Lone Ranger.
But, for me, they still live. They live in the mind and the heart of the child within, a place where society’s rules of acceptable behaviors can’t touch.
For more on my favorite childhood heroes, check out–I Was a Cowboy Kid for Christmas.