Happy Birthday, Superman

Yesterday was my dad's 80th birthday. I am feeling the sorrow that comes from loss and separation, the rage that comes with being forced into estrangement by a stranger, but also, the joy that comes from knowing that I had twenty-nine years of the best dad a boy could ask for. A dad that lives inside me and guides the good ship Donavan into the port of manhood like a bright star on a foggy evening.

My best friend David's dad is in town this week and he told a story at dinner the other night about buying Davey a toy rocket when he was little and how the rocket failed to blast off. When he told David that they would return it for a working one, David reminded his father that the toy store was closing in ten minutes. "We can make it!” his father said. He put David in the car, raced to the store and they had a successful launch a half hour later. Young David said to his father, "You're the best dad in the universe!” His dad recounted the story to us with tears in his eyes and said, "that's the kind of thing dads remember". David looked as his dad with the eyes of a boy in love.

I felt so sad in that moment, so sad in fact, that I excused myself and went to the bathroom. When I got there, I burst into tears. As I looked in the mirror, I saw the man that I have become staring back at me. A strong and capable man. I felt a deep melancholy wash over me as I pondered the fact that my father will seemingly never get to see that newly formed man up close. I felt envious of David. Envious that I too didn't have a dad who raced to the toy store to make things right for his disappointed son.

Then I remembered.

That is exactly the kind of dad I had.

I could recount dozens, hell, hundreds of stories proving my point but I shall keep it to one.

When I was about five, I had a small rubber Superman.

He went with me everywhere, leaving my little pocket only to take occasional flights of fancy from the end of my fingers and the depths of my imagination.

One night, as my father and I returned from a day of frolicking together, I walked hand in hand with him up the driveway of our home and noticed that my old rubber friend was not in his usual resting place inside my forest green corduroy trousers.

"Where's Superman?” I asked.

My dad sensed the panic in my voice.

"I'm sure he's in the car, sweet boy. Don't worry", said my daddy reassuringly.

He wasn't in the car.

I started to cry.

"Superman!!!” I wailed, my cheeks as red as apples.

I saw my fathers mind go to work.

"Where was the last place you remember seeing him, honey?"

"Sears".

We had spent the day at the park and went to Sears on the way home.

9:15pm.

Sears closed fifteen minutes ago.

My father took me in his arms and we got back in the car.

9:45.

Sears again.

Dark as the bottom of the ocean.

My father, my hero, didn't give up. He rapped on the door.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

A security guard.

"We're closed sir".

"I just need to come in and take a look around for a small Superman toy. My son needs it".

"The children’s department opens tomorrow morning with the rest of the store. Come back at 9am. We'll be here".

"No, you don't understand...we don't want to buy it. We already own the toy. My son dropped it when we were here earlier today..."

"Sorry mister, we're closed. I can't open these doors".

"Do you have kids?"

"Excuse me"?

"I said, do you have any children"?

"Yes. A daughter. Eight."

"It's his favorite toy. I'm asking you, father to father. Man to man. Please. Open those doors".

With the help of a flashlight and a couple of good daddies, Superman and Baby were reunited twenty minutes later. It sits on my desk to this very day, cape in tatters and paint worn off from decades of love.

My father and I aren't talking. We haven't spoken in over five years.

Cape in tatters.

Decades of love.

If we could talk, I would say the following to him...

"Dad, I love you. You will always be Superman to me".

And Superman will I one day be, to my own children.

Always.

Like father, like son.

When I lean down to kiss my future baby in their crib, I will kiss them with heart and lips that were loved by a father who always had an S on his chest.

And always will.

He lives in my fortress of solitude.

My yesteryear and my future.

My heart.

And no amount of anger or loss or time will ever disturb that peaceful slumber.

Thank you dad, for teaching me how to live, but more importantly, for teaching me how to love.

Comments

[Adam]

Nice story... I hope we all have our stories of a moment that sticks with us like that. I wonder if I'll think of it every time I pull out that particular album now?

[Heidi]

Happy birthday to your dad. There is a lot of him shining within your glow.

[Davey]

No wonder we are brothers! Now, if there were only an explanation for loving the 70s and Japanese girls! You are the best Donnie. Your words are infused with your own immense greatness, your heart. You are family to me. Love, Davey

[Kelly]

Oh Donavan...you are beautiful!

xoxoxo

[Pat]

Donavan,

An incredible story!! It should be on every father's mind how their children are affected by the most ( to anyone else) "trivial" events. To their child, it can be THE most important event. It takes the most incredible father to take that even as seriously as their child.

Thank you for sharing and I pray, truly, your dad remembers...and comes back to you, your sister and his granchild.

Pat

[Hilary Quatinetz]

Oh, donavan...you'll be ok.

[fredde duke]

I love that when I write anything to you that in my peripheral vision are tits, lots of tits and girls kissing each other....as usual, you make me cry and laugh and wish for Stan to come back to you guys...and I am always reminded of my own kooky childhood where my parents fought for me and protected me-to a fault maybe but oh well...it's why I'm drawn to you and Donna...happy birthday to your daddy, hope he reads this and all of your writing and is proud....he should be, love, Fredde

[fredde duke (AGAIN)]

oh and pussy, better yet beavershots which is a word that someone needs to bring back....right there look to the right, full 70's bush....and I forgot one thing...I used to get my dad best dad of the year plaques that I came across after he died, which I really didn't need to have made up since he was quite sure of my adoration/love....and I'm still faintly obsessed with my dad and quote him just about every day of my life, sometimes many times a day...I will leave you with one of his biggest quotes which doubles as advice..."fuck'em!"

[jsbankston]

Interesting counterpoint, as I read this shortly after a long and exhausting telephinc argument with my mom, during which she said horrible things. My dad and I never got along--he's been dead for 12 years--but she quoted something awful he said about me that's left me gutted for the last 24 hours. It made it clear to me why "I like livin' easy without family ties." My mom and I have since supposedly made up--until the next time--but the shell shock is still there.

[Adam]

bankston-
if your mom is quoting awful things your dad said about you, she is not ready to make up. if she were, she would let sleeping dogs lie.
fredde-
Your dad's advice sounds like my own. the advice passed down to me was simply "if someone hits you, hit 'em back"
Donavan-
I've heard a lot of blame placed on the woman in your fathers life. We all have free will. She can't "MAKE" him do anything. Maybe he sees so much of your mother in you, it's painful to see you. My grandfather still hasn't really recovered from the death of my grandmother. When such strong bonds are broken, it can be VERY painful.

[Colleen]

Adam - Please do not even go there. That is just not even cool to say such things when one is mourning the loss of one's father. I assume that yours is still alive. I knew both of Donavan's parents and I knew his father well enough to know that he would not be estranged from his children by choice. So keep it shut if you don't know what you are talking about. When my husband's dad was married to his second wife the kids never saw their father. He is now on #3 and we see them often. Now that my father is dead, I have become estranged from my stepmother (whom I adored as a child) and my 4 sisters. Stepparents can be wonderful but they can be wicked. And the bitch Stan is married to must be beyond wicked (haven't met her so I can't be certain) for keeping a man away from his children. I think that was more than my 2 cents. Donavan - I love ya and miss ya and my heart goes out to you. xoxoxo
CM

[...s...]

oh, flame-retarding-(O!)henry-darging-ball-hog-wild-child-safe-cracker-jack o' green lantern, just keep doin all the good plenty right by them, cause hey you got the good stuff tens of tons with oodles of noodles and besides what's that bit about the wash again?

[DS]

Public discussion of pornography is not acceptable in 2006, this isn't 1973. You should not be surprised that most people distance themselves. Keep the private private and promote the public and your life will be back on track. It's easy to point at me and call me an *ss, but the reality is that talking about the mechanics of sex is always and 100% going to break up relationships with people raised, you know, 5 miles outside of The Valley or 5 blocks outside of Soho.

Get real, get to know America, the America that took f*cking PE class like a man and used it to help them GROW rather than be a p*ssy about it. That's your secret. That will solve your problems.

[Tinkerbell]

DISCLAIMER...

This message comes from an anonymous: mafioso, ruffian, racketeer, bruiser, crony, desperado and hoodlum. READ: Queen Rat in Donavan's Rat Pack. Pigtailed Pirate. Zany Zookeeper. Fellow-Muppet. Brain.

This message is exclusively directed at DS which is obviously an abbreviation for DicklesS DipShit (not to be confused with DF--short for DollFaced Donavan Freberg.)

This message will attempt to demonstrate that people with sticks up their asses should not be giving advice to geniuses.

This message was written by someone who was raised more than 5 miles outside the Valley (THANK GOD) Oh...and since when is the Valley comparable to Soho? GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK! Where are you from, DS? Somewhere in the middle, no doubt. We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto.

Finally, this message was written by an attractive Tinkerbell who has better things to do than waste time trying to convince someone whose name is clearly not Peter to fly. However, since Donavan is most definitely the Pan of all Peters, Tink must come to his defense. Clap! Clap! Clap! If you don't want me to die. If I didn't like Pirates so much DS, I would call you Captain Hook. But, since that doesn't work, let's go with Sir. Smegma.

Here we go:
.............................................................................

Dear *ss (ASS...type it out you little fuck!)--

How pathetic.

You are obviously:
a) ignorant as a corn-fed cow (you couldn't even begin to compete with the grazing folk)
b) a 40-year-old virgin that would have made Steve Carell turn down the role
c) a lonely pedophiliac PE coach who resents the ones who escaped from the locker room...
d) the anti-christ
e) Dick Cheney's twin brother
f) Augustus Gloop
*Why do I automatically assume that you are male?

Oh! I forgot g) ALL OF THE ABOVE!

And how sad that you have to spend your time insulting a man who is as colorful as a giant gumball machine, as creative as Pippi Longstocking and as loving as your favorite stuffed animal and blanky put together. Perhaps you didn't have a teddy bear... Or loving parents... Or any love in your life whatsoever... That would explain everything. If so, I'm sorry. So sorry. It would be hard for you to understand Donavan if the word LOVE wasn't in your vocabulary.

You wrote, "Public discussion of pornography is not acceptable in 2006, this isn't 1973." As a woman who recently graduated magna cum laude from one our country's finest institutions, I can readily say that public discussion of pornography is most definitely acceptable and exceptional--seeing that I attended several lectures on the very subject...lectures that most definitely were not offered in 1973, thank you very much. Oh and on the subject of 1973... are you implying that we have progressed as a society? No darling, in many ways we would be lucky to flash back to 1973 and steal some aesthetic guidance from the Donavans of the day.

And let me also add that porn is not the problem--especially the artistic and beautiful photographs that Donavan celebrates on his website. Talk about regression, DS! Since when was the female form something to "keep private." Maybe you should ask Durer, Delacroix, Matisse, Cezanne, Klimt, Renoir, Degas (I could go on...I mean, have you ever seen a Greek Statue?) Put it this way...I've got tits. Really fabulous ones. And I think I enjoy Creamsicle as much if not more than the average 15 year old boy would...and that's saying a lot, isn't it?

2006 represents a time when anything is acceptable on a personal blog, DS. Who the fuck forced you to read it? 2006 is a time to stop worrying about the words "acceptable" and "unacceptable" and to start worrying about "BEING." It is the time to stop telling people who they should be and what they should do. It is the time to PLAY and find the future within oneself. It is a time use oneself (including one's quirks and flaws) as a template for creative pursuits.

There is a fine line between private and public, and personally, I would argue, that the line can only be drawn by the master carrying the crayon... So if Donavan wants to talk about his anal canal, the purple crayon is at his disposal... And I don't know about you, but I will probably still read what he has to say... And knowing him, he will move me to laughter or tears or introspection and possibly all three at the same time.

What is not acceptable in 2006 is stiff-assed, Bush-loving (and not the kind of bush that Donavan loves...yeah, like calling him a "p*ssy" is really going to break the skin of one of the world's biggest lovers of the purring underworld. If you want to penetrate, DS, dig deeper...) bastards, who have a problem talking about the mechanics of sex. Holy shit, I feel bad for whoever you're fucking--if you're even lucky enough to be fucking someone. The only thing better than talking about the mechanics of sex is practicing the mechanics of sex--and obviously neither one has produced any sort of ecstatic pleasure for you, or you wouldn't be saying that the topic of sex breaks up relationships as long as you weren't raised in Porn-valley or Posh-Soho. It just doesn't add up douche bag.

The real America does not exist anymore. America is a disaster--and the only thing holding it together are people like Mr. Freberg who remind us what Coca Cola once was and tell us what it should be (let Coca Cola be a metaphor for the state of the country.)

Face it DS, we all have problems. Donavan just reminds us that if we confront those problems, our wounds will heal faster.

Donavan offers us exactly what we need--and he offers us what your born-again friends can't.

What we all need is...Honesty.

Here it is: lack of cynicism. Readers in this country are ready to say goodbye to Dave Eggers and hello to Baby Boy Freberg--that is not to say there isn't a time and a place for sarcasm in any story. But truth and honesty are what fuel what i have read of Donavan's work, and force the reader to stop thinking: "fuck it all." What is unique about his story and his writing is that it is HIS--but also, that it is not glossed over by the post-postmodern apathy that has wounded our generation (even though we may not even be part of the same generation.) That is not to say that it doesn't utilize the tools and language of our generation(s), but it takes experiences, opinions, ideas, emotions and stories that only few readers will be able to relate to and makes it their own without forcing them to loathe themselves because they didn't live it--or because of the inevitable darkness that comes with the light (both in the stories and in their own lives); it demonstrates how much there is to love about life despite the fact that our ships sink every once in a while. Therefore what could have simply been a reverse cinderella story, becomes a wonderful collage that says "keep moving forward, sail across those seas" rather than saying what we have heard over and over again lately: "put down that anchor because we are all stuck and fucked."

Every day I look forward to seeing if Donavan has posted something new on his site. Why? I am not some doting girl who stalks him and wets herself at the thought of his blue sweater in the commercials we all remember. Give me a break. No way. I go to his site everyday because he is an incredible human being with fantastic interests and amazing stories who teaches me to look into myself and sit with what I am feeling.

Let me pose a question DS. Are you completely spineless? I would ask if you were a robot, but I have no doubt that you are nothing of the sort. I love robots! Robots exhibit much more of an understanding of human nature than you do. Do me a favor, DS, go on-line and look up the word "empathy" in the dictionary. In fact, maybe you should check the Encyclopedia.... Donavan can help you out if you don't know where to find a good one.

Don't read the fucking blog if you have a problem with any of these basic things: FUN, love, laughter, humanity, compassion, genius, crazy, sad, play, toys, vagina.

In addition, you might want to stay away if you don't understand the benefits of: playing on the swings, eating ice cream, blowing bubbles, muppets, finger painting, flowers, indecent proposals, paradoxes, swimming, luxury, woody allen...etc.

And listen buster, if you don't like caffeine, or Coca Cola or Superman, no one is going to throw decaying banana peels in your direction or tell you that they don't love you like your parents may have loved you. But understand that this blog IS NOT ABOUT YOU. It is about a man called Baby--and if you read the other comments on this blog, you will see how many people it has touched.

Don't tell Donavan how to solve his problems. No one has that right but Donavan. Stick with your own problems DS and maybe, just maybe you will evolve into less of a dipshit.

Finally, HOW DARE YOU post this message on the blog Donavan dedicates to his own lost-Superman. HOW DARE YOU try to strike Donavan with Cryptonite. Thank god his love is not so easily stolen and thank god he is more of a super hero than Superman. Cryptonite is useless. Give up.

Donavan will teach his future son how to fly without falling and how to find happily ever after through love. I look forward to seeing the pair of Wizards work their magic together.

DS, learn how to love yourself. And others. Or, get a life and stay away from this wonderful online empire of demented tidbits.

xoxo
-Tinkerbell

[CM]

Hey Tink - Can I just say that you rock! Wish I could write like that. Guess that's why I became a biochemist and then acupuncturist. We all have our gifts and one of yours is definitely with the keyboard (you too, DF). You and Donavan made my night! Sleep well. BTW D - I can't wait to find out about your secret project!

Love and blessings from Texas,
CM

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