My Dad could build anything. He wasn’t just handy. He could create almost anything you could dream up, be it a piece of furniture, a home to put it in, or a skyscraper. It all seemed to be the same kind of easy for him. He’d say, “It’s just a box. It’s just a matter of how fancy you want your box to be.’’ Of course, anyone looking on could see the truth. He was a master.
Growing up with Superman wasn’t easy. It was actually kind of painful for a kid like me. For whatever natural ability he had, I had an equal and opposite clumsiness. My lack of skills made me hesitant to try and afraid to fail… until one day when I was in eighth grade.