Growing up I was OBSESSED with Superman, like an unhealthy obsession. I would make my mom buy whitie tighties and red food coloring and I would stand in our kitchen with nothing but a red sheet tied around my neck while she dyed my whitie tighties red. Then and only then, would I put a pair of blue pajamas on, slip my red underwear over them, jam into some of my mom’s cowboy boots (because in my 5 year old head, it made sense that Superman would wear cowboy boots) and then I would fly around my yard fighting off bad guys. I would eventually start requesting/demanding that I be sent to school in this same attire and if I wasn’t allowed, all hell would break lose. I watched the original Superman movie when I was young probably 100 times. I cried when Christopher Reeve died, hard, not just like “oh that sucks” but even at age 18, in my eyes Superman, my hero since I could remember, had died. That is who Superman was to me. I tear up and get chills reading certain comics and I can put money on the fact that I will cry at least once during the new Man Of Steel movie. Few things have stuck with me through out my entire life like Superman has. Fads have come and gone, things I was once enthralled in through out my life seem lame and uninteresting, but not Supes, at age 27 I think I’m even more obsessed than I was 22 years ago. I have Superman pajamas, Superman socks (which I am currently wearing), Superman shirts, comic books, and soon to be tattoos of the one man who has been a consistent in my life when very few others have. Thanks for everything Supes and Happy Birthday, old man.