The Last American Bachelor

I'm a Hero

I recently discovered that I am truly a hero. And it feels great.

Did I rescue an infant from a burning building? No. Can I fly? Nope. Am I a major league ball player? A movie star? Do I fight criminals on the streets of New York? No, nope, and no again. What makes me a hero then? Well, what exactly makes me a hero is a bit hard to define, but the fact that I am a hero is indisputable. I know that I’m a hero because my son showed me his new underwear – and it’s just like mine.

I picked him up from school the other day and he was in the back seat of the car as we were riding home. It being Friday, I asked him how school had been that week.

“Okay,” he said as we stopped at a red light, and then he added, “I’ve got new underwear. They’re boxer-briefs. I told Mom I wanted boxer shorts like yours, but she said they don’t make those for kids, so she got me boxer briefs. See?” I turned around in my seat to look at him and then he pulled his shorts leg up to reveal the black boxer-brief-clad thigh underneath, and I knew then that I was someone’s hero.

I have no idea what the connection is between underwear and superheroes, but the connection is unmistakable and undeniable. So important is this connection that many superheroes even deem to wear their underwear proudly on the outside of their uniforms. When I was younger, we had Underoos. I’m not sure if they still make that particular brand, but I’m quite certain kids can still purchase underwear that features their heroes, be they Sponge Bob, Dora the Explorer, or Spider-Man. A five-year-old boy can’t always go to school dressed like Superman, but he can still walk with confidence, knowing that Superman is protecting his most delicate body parts. On the outside, a little girl is just like any other little girl, but beneath it all, she has the wrappings of pretty, pretty princesses that will remind her that her dreams just may one day come true.

So when his mom took him shopping for new school clothes, and they reached that underwear isle, my hero status became suddenly undeniable. He could have chosen to decorate his loins with Superman, Batman, Spider-man, the Hulk, Transformers, Sponge Bob Square Pants, Scooby Doo, The Incredibles, or even Lightning McQueen – but he wanted to be like his biggest hero. He wanted to wear underwear like his Dad.

“Mom said you wear boxer shorts and I said I wanted those, but they didn’t have them, so she got me these. They’re called ‘boxer-briefs’,” he explained with a slight tone of disappointment.

“That’s, okay,” I responded into the mirror as the traffic began moving again. “I have boxer-briefs too, just like those.” And I saw in my review mirror the smile of an eight-year-old boy who was filled with pride and joy, and the confidence to take on the Third Grade’s most evilest of villains without fear.