Men of Marvel

            When I was growing up, my relatives liked to gift me with dolls or stuffed animals for birthdays and Christmases, because I was a girl and that's what they assumed young girls liked to play with. I would always smile and thank them for their gifts with genuine gratitude and excitement for a new toy to add to my collection. For about five minutes I would comb their hair, strip them of their clothing, examine what they looked like underneath, give them back their dignity, then place them gently on a shelf or in a neat pile with the rest of my neglected dolls and stuffed animals. For the next decade or so they would pretty much stay in that posture and apparel, gathering a light coating of dust that would get shaken off every now and then, if I noticed it. I never really felt quite comfortable playing with dolls because they had nothing to contribute back to me. With drawing or coloring, the result was a pretty picture. With video games, I got the gratification of receiving a high score and a little scene to watch for my efforts. With television, I was given knowledge and an understanding of the world outside of my own. Dolls were just pretty showpieces I liked to look at, very much like Uncle Scrooge with his collection of gold. They would just sit there, piling up in my treasure trove, never made useful and never allowed to be played with by anyone else. I was always much of a loner so I assumed to think my dolls didn't need much fussing over and pretended that they had enough company amongst themselves. In some ways, I suppose the way I treated my dolls was the same way I thought of children when I got older. The idea of having them always seemed like a plan that was set far into the future, something just sitting there on a shelf, dusty, but there if I one day I'd like to play with the idea. But it just never really felt like it was in the cards for me. The older I got, the thought of having children began to float farther into the distance and dusty to the point that it began to fade into the backdrop completely. However, when I'm surrounded by my brothers' children, the idea doesn't necessary get dusted off or come flying back to pencil itself into my agenda, but I get a kick of what might probably be called my inner maternal instincts and all I want to do is play and cuddle with the little kiddies and help to develop them into fine young men and women. That's the great thing about being an aunt though, I get to play like a child, teach them a thing or two, and vice versa. But the stress of providing for them, caring for their health when they're taken ill, changing diapers and watching over their every move, is none of my concern. If I was ever needed in that regard, if their parents couldn't care for them for whatever reason, I'd always be the first to scoop them up and act as substitute, but, thankfully, that is not the case and so I can have my cake and eat it too. I get to have the fun part of being a parental figure without having to be committed to the full time, hard part of being a parent.

            Over the previous weekend, I was home with my family and my brother Jason was visiting with his son, Aiden. That little guy equal part cracks me up and drives me crazy. He's only four years old and one of the smartest kids I've ever known. I could honestly sit down and have a deeper conversation with Aiden than I could with most of the adults I've come across in my lifetime. He even has the ability to question some of my own motives and decisions when I'm in his presence at times. However, as with the law of physics, with every action there is an equal and opposite reaction, and with that being said, with his gift of keen intellect comes an over abundance of high energy. His little thirty-four pound frame can run circles around you until you're dizzy and ready for an eight-hour nap but lucky if you could get more than four with his early bird rise. I would be lethally underweight if I had to chase that little guy around on a daily basis.

            As I lay, a twisted frame, stretching the length of my parents' couch just after the break of dawn last weekend, I could somehow feel a presence hovering in front of my face while I was attempting to stay in my dream-like state. Unfortunately, it wasn't working, but trying not to commit completely to being awake, I only unglued one sleepy eye open to see what I sensed was in the room with me. Just two inches from my nose I found a dancing figurine of Spiderman with a tiny hand wrapped around its shiny plastic body.

"Are you awake now?" I hear what my closed eye cannot see and follow the sound with my one, bloodshot eye, landing on a pair of crystal blues looking back at me in wonder, "Yes, Aiden, auntie Marcy is awake. How may I help you?"

"Can we watch Spiderman?"

"Yes Aiden, we can watch Spiderman."

"Can we go watch him now?"

"We can't go now. You have to wait four more days. Spiderman is very busy man this week. I promise we'll see him on Friday."

"Okay, because I want to give him a big hug. I love Spiderman."

"I know you do buddy." I definitely know you do.

I've had my own obsessions over the years, some I still can't seem to shake, but it was another three years before I started with my fixations. This kid has wasted no time, but it's nice to know that I'm not the only one who can appreciate a good man in tights.

            Friday morning I was back in New York and found myself standing first in line for rush tickets to see the Spiderman Musical on Broadway. There was no way in hell I was going to be known as Auntie Liar because I failed to keep my promise to Aiden. So at stupid o'clock in the morning I made the trip to Times Square on two hours of sleep, in the pouring rain, to stand in line for three hours. Two of which, I busied myself doing the AM New York crossword puzzle and nearly finished it. One of these days I might actually complete one of those darn puzzles. The box office didn't open until ten a.m. but I was not about to pay $80-$150 to see a Spiderman musical so my only guarantee of paying rock bottom prices for the show was to be somewhere in front of that line when those doors opened for general rush tickets.

            September is considered a slow month in New York City. Most of the European tourists go back to their lives after weeks of vacationing in August, children are back in school and parents are exhausted from a long week of work by Fridays and resign to staying in before the weekend. So, to everyone else and those who live in the city, we get a nice break and some freedom to venture into what the city has to offer without a fight to do it. Broadway tickets can be snatched through a lottery before a show or purchased early in the morning while those supplies last with better odds. However, one must always be prepared for a fluke, so I set myself up in front of those doors and there I stood, alone, for two hours until my competition began to align themselves behind me for those tickets. At nine forty-five, my friend Erin joined me in line to score that third ticket because only two tickets could be purchased per person. At ten o'clock sharp, the doors opened and like we were entering the kingdom of OZ, Erin and I walked in, purchased our golden tickets and my promise was sealed.

            There's nothing like watching a Broadway show. I try to catch one whenever I can afford to and I've been curious about seeing this one in particular, mostly because of all the action involved in the production. Not to mention the publicity it's garnished because of its high accident rate. It's not that I want to see anyone get hurt, per say, but I would like to know what it is that they're doing in the show that has people breaking their neck's attempting to do.

            Two hours before the show, Jason and Aiden pulled up from their four-hour drive from Massachusetts where they were visiting with my parents and we head out for a quick dinner before the show. At a diner Aiden sat squirming like a fish in the booth with so much excitement I thought he would burst into flames. If there was ever a lull in conversation he was professing his love for Spiderman like the characters written in a Shakespearean play. With his crystal blue eyes glossed over with emotion, he would look at me across the booth with complete sincerity and say, "I love Spiderman. When I see him, I'm going to give him a big hug." He would say it in such a way that all that was missing in his declaration was the placement of the back of his wrist to his forehead while it was uttered in a faint. I couldn't help but chuckle to his reaction and look at his father beside him smirking back at me, trying not to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing, I just think you're cute."

"You're laughing."

"Yeah, but I just think it's nice that you love Spiderman."

"I LOOOOOOVE him. I love him more than the Green Goblin."

"Oh, that's good. I'm glad you love the Green Goblin too, even if he is mean."

"Yeah."

"You're a good guy."

"Yeah."

            With his Spiderman T-shirt, socks, hoodie and light flashing sneakers, Aiden was ready to impress the man himself, so we hopped on the subway and streamed down the tracks like a bullet to Times Square. I was probably just as excited to see Aiden's reaction to the event, as he was to see Spiderman--until he spotted the tight donning Spiderman taking pictures with audience members in the lobby. If idolatry was a superpower, Aiden was at maximum strength the moment he spotted the Marvel character in the flesh. It was all over. NOTHING else mattered. Aiden saw nothing in front of him but the space between him and the tall, spandex covered man he "looooooved". Gripped my hand with all of his strength he pushed through the crowd until he was right in front of him. While Spiderman was busy posing for a picture with a young boy in his arms Aiden stood by his feet in speechless admiration. When the boy in his arms was placed back on his feet, Spiderman spotted Aiden and stretched his arms out to him. The moment had finally come. Aiden flew into his arms like he was the south pull of a magnet and Spiderman was the north. When his little figure made contact with him, he wrapped his skinny arms around Spiderman's neck in such a bone-crushing bear hug I was worried it might have snapped the superhero's cervical vertebrae in the process. I was beginning to think that this was probably why the production had such high accident rates. With a flash, the photographer snapped a picture of the two in that very position and Aiden was placed back on his feet with a high five and a thumbs up for his keen taste in apparel. He was completely speechless and had no idea what to do with himself. He looked down at his hands for a second and noticed that he was still holding his ticket. With the only thing he had in his possession to give, he handed Spiderman his ticket as a gift. Touched by his generosity, Spiderman hugged the ticket to his chest and thanked him for the gift. I stood there with the widest smile on my face and such pride in my chest for his happiness. I thought I would burst. Watching someone else's dream come true felt ten times more fulfilling than making my own dreams realized. I wondered if this must be what it's like to have a child of your own. To see them thrive in the world. Aiden is just my nephew but I felt like I could fight an army for his happiness. What would I be like with my own child?

            When we got in the theater we found our seats at the very back of the orchestra section. Again, with back seats, I'm destined to always be sitting from the farthest point of any event, no matter what I do. However, it was better than sitting outside in the rain looking at the front door. When we made ourselves comfortable Aiden turned to his father and I with the saddest face, "I forgot to tell Spiderman that I loved him."

"Oh, that's okay buddy. I'm sure he could tell that you loved him. You got to hug him though, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

            When the lights dimmed to near darkness and the show started, Aiden crawled on my lap and clung to my neck in anticipation. As the lights lifted he was at the edge of my knees staring out with the attention of an owl in the night. Halfway through the first act a human sized spider, Arachne, began singing an operatic number with the eeriest tone. After a few bars were sung the woman wrapped a rope around her neck and knowing what was coming, I covered Aiden's eyes as she hung herself and dangled from the top of the stage in front of an audience half filled with children. What the...! I was peeved. What kind of a director prepares a show that's geared towards children and assumes that this is okay? I had nightmares for weeks as a kid when someone just told me story of someone found dead hanging from a tree in the woods once. What would that do for a child actually seeing something like that, even if it were pretend? That scene nearly scared the crap out of me and Aiden was clinging to my neck shaking like a leaf, on the verge of tears after that and he only saw the start of the action. Two thumbs down McKinley. What's wrong with you?

            The show had its redeeming qualities when it came down to the stunts in the second act. When Spiderman came flying out above the audience with the Green Goblin in an aerial attack, we were all at the edge of our seats debilitated with emotion. "I love him" was written all over Aiden's face. I spent more time watching his reaction than I did on the production itself. When the show was over we filed out of the theater, eyes peeled for another chance to see Spiderman because Aiden had hugs to deliver. Unfortunately, the man was done for the night and we made our way to the lights of Times Square. Aiden searched the sky for his friend hoping he would be swinging along the buildings heading for his home in Queens. Jason and I made a copy of the picture he took with Spiderman so that he could handle without damaging the original. He stared at that picture like an artist studies a painting. On the subway ride home he showed the girls on the train his picture with the proudest air and they smiled at his baby blues with sweet humor. For all of the sacrifices having a child can endure, it's moments like this that seem to bear the fruit of those labors. I can see how it would all be worth it when you get to be witness to those innocent wonders as they soak up the world for the first time and you are the one person they want by their side as they discover them. Those are the things that make life worth anything, kinship. I'm lucky to at least have a share in those moments. Who knows? Maybe someday I may get to see if I have the stuff mother's are made of, or, the battery life of the sun to do it. Who knows?