When I was 7 or 8, Superman was my hero. Back in those days, at the start of the school day, we had to stand to attention in class beside our desk, and first sing Oh Canada, then God save the Queen. After that, we had to bow or curtsy to the teacher. Then, only the boys would line up, and the teacher would inspect the boy's hands and behind their ears for hygiene. I do not remember getting nailed too many times for dirty nails or being dirty, or behind my ears. If you failed the inspection, you had the embarrassment of going to wash up and delaying the class start. It was into this strict school environment I clung to my superhero.
Superman of that time loaded his hair with Brylcreem, and so did I and my buddy Steve. When Steve and I stood to attention as we sang Oh Canada, it was a time of extreme patriotic imitation, where there was an opportunity to display and show off the muscles we did not have. For me, it was like entering a world of hope and fascination. Just like Superman, I would place my arms out between 30 and 45 degrees. Back in those days, most people, because of my age, would refer to me as a stick-boy, bone-rack, or even a bean pole because of my thin stature. One time I looked over, and Steve had his actual arms bent at 45 degrees. I had to do the same, and I might have felt a little embarrassed Steve had one-upped me. So, I thought and very quickly separated my legs and pretended to have portions of steel, as if I was lifting 5000 pounds. Outside in the school yard I remember running, jumping, and always landing in a Superman pose during recess. Superman always landed with one leg at 90 degrees, hands out, looking cool because he knew everybody was watching him. I remember one of the kids asking me, "Why do you always land that way?" I told him because that is the way Superman lands. He instantly wholly understood the way kids of that generation did.
I wish I had a picture from those days; I'm sure I would laugh at myself. I'm not surprised all those strict teachers let this one fall through the cracks [probably because this behaviour was so cute]. Or, I think they might have been laughing too hard. Now that I'm old enough to look back with a little bit of common sense and wisdom --- what would I say to myself? There were many powerful challenges for a child in the classrooms of that time, including the brutality of the strap. I'm also one of the guys from that generation who can testify that corporal punishment does not work. Even after getting the strap for years and years, almost daily, it had zero effect on my attention-seeking behaviour. I was always the class clown. I remember thinking that I've got to be rugged like Superman and bravely challenge that daily pain. However, sometimes I was sure that strap did contain tiny molecules of kryptonite. In the end, I matured a bit and moved [slightly] away from being the class clown.
Today, retired and in university, I try to use the class clown behaviour for positive purposes like getting the students motivated or helping the professors, in any way. Classes and school should be a place of fun, good memories, and eventually aiming to realize our goals, [even if some of those goals come from fictional role models].
The End