Thursday, December 29, 2011
During the past several days, I have had the opportunity to reflect on a number of things relating to my father and the relationship he and I shared. I was reminded in my thoughts of a story I once heard about the three stages of one's father being a super hero. Taking this story and with special liberties I would like to explain.
Stage 1:
Our super hero relationship started as one in which as a child, watching Saturday morning cartoons I developed a concept of a super hero; someone with extraordinary powers, fighting for truth, justice and the American way. My father was a super hero in my mind at the tender age of five. I felt as though my father was the bravest man ever, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, run faster than a speeding bullet and had the wisdom to defeat evil throughout the world. The only thing missing was the cape.
Stage 2:
As I began to get older and more involved in things that boys are most interested in: girls. I began to think my father was not a super hero at all. Instead, I thought he had been placed on this earth with no other reason than to torture me with embarrassment. I distinctly remember on more than one occasion going to the Buford Winn-Dixie with my father, after making certain I looked my best, only to have him embarrass me in some way shape or form, almost ensuring I would never ever get a date. At the "rebel without a clue" teenage years, I felt that I knew everything anyway and I began to withdraw from my father thinking he had no idea what he was doing.
Stage 3:
As I become older and with God's grace, hopefully a bit wiser, I have understood that things that once embarrassed me or advice I once received from him were only to help me. Lessons learned from the trials of adolescence and beyond were taught in the hopes of making me a better man. Simple things such as faith in God, American patriotism, the ability to laugh at yourself, and yes, even linear algebra were learned from a man that although he never leaped tall buildings in a single bound or ran faster than a speeding bullet and to my knowledge never wore a cape; thank goodness, helped to make me someone that I pray he was proud of. It is in this moment that I realize the Webster's definition of a super hero is not accurate. To see a true super hero, one needs only to have known my father, Charles Edwin Jordan.
Written by: Edwin Scott Jordan