Every Little Boy's Dream

One of a few childhood memories I can clearly picture in my mind's eye is the classroom in Benjamin Franklin Elementary School where I spent the kindergarten school year of my life. In particular, I envision the wooden jungle gym near the middle of the room. There were many days were that structure served as the stage of a sort of 5-year-old boy fashion show. Perhaps even a pageant. That's right, I'm talking about...

UNDEROOS!

Yep, you heard me. Underoos!

Now don't get your proverbial panties in a bunch. I'm not suggesting my kindergarten teacher was so "progressive" as to allow half-dozen 5-year-old boys to prance around in the middle of class wearing nothing but their skivvies and smiles. (Yes, that was a bit of an "Auntie Mame" slam:)) In fact, I remember that Mrs. Moroni (more affectionately known as Mrs. Macaroni) had a pretty good handle on things. But let me clarify: during the indoor recess time, in true Clark Kent-esque form, many of us boys would peel off whatever top layer of shirt/sweater/sweatshirt we were wearing to reveal the true superhero that lay beneath.

For example, my Batman undershirt gave me the ability to cause large cartoon dialog balloons (such as "POW!" and "WHAP!") to appear when I struck down a villainous foe. Occasionally, depending on the various household laundry cycles represented in the classroom, there were multiple Batmans, Supermans, etc. protecting the class on a given day--watch out all you demented ill-named fiends plotting to take over the universe!

Through the years between kindergarten and today, I have many times dreamed of really being able to levitate objects with my mind, or to exercise physical strength beyond natural human limitations. And even outside of the context published by the likes of Marvel Comics, I have considered the soaring eagle, and longed to experience the freedom and perspective of his lofty ways.

But I am now arriving in a season where the truth of the matter is becoming clear to me.

As a parent, I see the same impossible superheroic longings and imaginations in my own son and daughters. Yet I also see their tremendous shortcomings in things that are not so superhuman. Things like telling the truth. And working hard. And exercising self-control. And being kind to each other. And being grateful.

And for my part, I have seen positive results when I train/coach/encourage/discipline them with particular skills, like how to play soccer. But, I have also seen very little effectiveness when I try to do the same for those character shortcomings. And it leaves me feeling so very powerless.

Come to think of it, maybe those things really are superhuman after all. Where are my Underoos now?

Good thing there really is a super-power to fight those villains: the Holy Spirit.

So as their parent, I see that what my kids need most is the Holy Spirit.

Me too.

"Thanks be to God for His indescribable gift!"