The Misunderstood Hero

My six-year-old is the misunderstood hero of our home. Not because he has to take a bath, but because he has to go up the stairs to get to the bath. Then he has to take off his clothes to get into the bath. Then he has to get out of the bath. 

It’s a trifecta of heroism you and I simply will never understand.

And he has to face it every night. 

It’s a relentless process. A thankless task. And underwhelming legacy, albeit a necessary one. 

Every day, he dedicates himself to using his powers in service of kindergarten society. Armed with state-of-the-art advanced technology (a snack-sized applesauce pouch) paired with superhuman stamina (questionable), he rotates the following missions:

Lunch Carrier - In charge of lunchbox bins. Super strength, obviously.

Paper Passer - Responsible for distributing worksheets. Duplication powers—he can multiply paper at will.

Light Keeper  - Turning the lights on and off. Then on again. Sort of like telekinesis, but not really.

Weather Recorder - Harnessing climate control abilities to check the temperature, mark the chart, and inform a roomful of non-readers about the state of the sky—despite the existence of a large window on one side of the classroom.

Lunch Count Courier - Delivering the sacred tally of hot lunches to the office. Dimensional travel required.

So yes—he’s tired. He worked all day. His legs are short, and it’s a long haul up that hill every night. 

It’s a thankless job being an unmasked vigilante among us—crusted crumbs at the corners of his mouth, sporting size 5T pants, mismatched socks, and the weight of the post-K world on his tiny shoulders.

A trifecta of heroism.