A Lesson From Bizarro World
Gotta say, I totally loved reading Superman comics as a kid; couldn't get enough of 'em. Just when times seemed bleakest the Man of Steel would swoop in and save Metropolis from the likes of Lex Luther, Brainiac and The Atomic Skull, his incredible superpowers a product of having immigrated from the red sun of Krypton to the yellow sun of Earth. The man was invincible, his range of abilities seemingly unlimited. He had super speed, super hearing, both x-ray and telescopic vision, super breathing with a temperature ranging from freezing things solid to torching them to ashes in a fiery blaze. His body was invulnerable, bullets bouncing off his chest harmlessly, his presence unaffected by bombs or missiles. And, oh, did I mention the man could fly? Talkin' Mach 10 fast... 660 million miles an hour fast. So, for all you people out there who think Batman could beat him in a fair fight?... up your meds already!
So, yeah, I was enthralled with this superhero and his constant conquest over the Dark Side while simultaneously living the double life of Clark Kent, the Daily Planet reporter, working with his cronies, Jimmy Olsen and Lois Lane, under the tutelage of their tough, cantankerous editor, Perry White. They were a great crew: Lois, the bright, determined, independent, headline-chasing reporter who always had our hero's eye, to Jimmy, the bowtie-wearing cub reporter, possessing childlike innocence, looking to the others as parent figures and known to everyone as Superman's pal. And of course, Perry, the gruff boss with a heart of gold. These were my peeps in my pre-teen years, their adventures my adventures, their world becoming my world. And looking back, yeah, there were worse characters I could've hitched my wagon to; way worse.
Granted, I found a few holes in the plotlines: Clark's donning glasses and a hat being enough to throw everyone off track as to his and Superman's otherwise identical countenance was sketch. Wondered, too, why a major newspaper, upon hiring him as a new employee, didn't require he produce records of his birth (Krypton might've raised a red flag ) and take a physical (how does one draw blood from an arm of steel?), not to mention, what cockamamie optometrist did Clark go to for his glasses prescription? C'mon, the guy has 20,000/20,000 vision. And why was it that no one took notice when Supes hung out at the Daily Planet, never once bumping into Clark Kent? Some investigative reporters, these guys. But hey, I'm being too picky; the times were simpler, when malignant naivety abounded, as kids, saddled with phones that weren't even close to smart, turned to comic books for their entertainment.
All was just ducky, until said naivety got one hell of a wake-up call when DC Comics introduced Bizarro World. Suddenly, I was confronted with these Superman wannabees, possessing rock-like skin and a misshapen face, dressed in the same blue suit and cape, only with an inverse "S" on their chests, hailing from Htrae ("Earth" spelled backward), a cubed planet. These inhabitants' beliefs and morals were 180 degrees different from ours, their motto being: "Us do opposite of all earthly things! Us hate beauty! Us love ugliness!" The whole scene had me gobsmacked. I read with eyes wide as these lug-heads used their super breath to roll a bowling ball in a serpentine fashion around the pins without causing them to fall, a zero score being their ultimate goal, getting the same result by effortlessly tossing a gutter ball never entering their daft noggins. These nitwits ate cold dogs instead of hot dogs, brushed their teeth with shoe polish and shined their shoes with toothpaste. At parties, the adults drank soda while the kids boozed it up. It was complete anarchy, I tell ya, and way too much for my young brain to handle.
Indeed, that was it, the day the rug was pulled out from under me, the moment my childhood innocence was lost. The creators of Superman, with the hope of garnering a whole new spinoff series, dashed its wholesome persona, welcoming in chaos in an effort to chase the almighty buck. Granted, I'd become accustomed to the evil misdeeds of Superman's usual assortment of foes but they didn't have superpowers or the cool uniforms or the totally rad capes like my guy. No, this new incarnation was something completely different, an introduction to the mightiest of the mighty who, when forced to choose between good and bad voted, hands down, for nihilism.
As it happened, I continued to read Superman comics after that but always with a jaundiced eye, waiting for the next shoe to drop, knowing that any long-established belief system could turn on a dime. And now, decades later, I've come to the realization that this lesson--like so many of the really poignant life lessons--was a gift, mental armor designed to bolster me should a comparable situation arise. A strength I could call upon to inure me when everything went topsy-turvy. And luckily, through all this time it's been unwarranted. Unnecessary. Just lying dormant. Ya know... until now.