I love Superman

Earthmama's expecting the birth of a new grandson -- the baby should be making his arrival any day now. Her son and his wife are thinking of naming him Superman. Think about the advantages this kid would have with a name like that. School bullies would think twice before pushing him around. Teachers would be eager to call on him to answer their questions. Teenage girls would yearn to smooth down his spit curl. He'd have it made.

Yesterday afternoon we took the boys to see Superman Returns. It's a pretty good movie. As usual with Hollywood blockbusters, the special effects are awesome. The actor is an eerie replica of Christopher Reeve. The story is tried but true: Superman saves us from the evil schemes of bad boy Lex Luthor after first fighting off the effects of Kryptonite.

There is something so compelling about Superman. He's idealistic and concerned. He looks down upon Earth, cape spread loftily out behind him, and listens to cries for help. Then he goes into action, flying from continent to continent at nearly the speed of light. He's inspiring.

And those red go-go boots he wears are to die for.

My boys love Superman. LegoGuy spent the first five years of his life drawing Superman pictures, dressing up as Superman, praying he could fly like Superman. He'd stand in front of the mirror after his bath and pull down a lock of hair, shaping it into a perfect curl, pressing it flat against his forehead. Sport used to wear a Superman costume, complete with sculpted abs. He loved running around, looking over his shoulder as the polyester cape flapped.

I love Superman, too. But to be honest, I don't understand the guy. I don't get it. Why does he keeps saving us? Why doesn't he get depressed when he sees us continue on our path to destruction? Why doesn't he just say, "Screw it!" and go in search of another planet to champion?

He must be a masochist.