Is Batman

Good or Evil?

By Tom MAtLAck

We arrived in Gotham via the Marine Air Terminal. The crowd parted as we set a brisk pace down the concourse, a flash of blue in the lead. A few people smiled reassuringly, but it wasn’t until we passed the security gate that things got really serious. An African-American officer, complete with gun and shoulder-mounted walkie-talkie, alerted the entire police force as we approached. “Batman is in the house,” she whispered, without even cracking a smile.

Batman is in the house

BATMAN!

A few hours later we had made our way to Central Park, the Apple Store, and the FAO Swartz in midtown. Everywhere it was the same thing. Crowds on the sidewalk parted. Garbage men hanging off the back of their trucks shouted at the top of their lungs, “BATMAN!” But the Dark Knight barely acknowledged the adoring public. He had important business to attend to. Somewhere in Gotham, Two-Face and Mr. Freeze lurked, just waiting to cause trouble.

In most other ways, Cole, my son, is a normal blond-haired, blue-eyed boy. He is extremely physical. He loves to run, pumping his arms like an Olympic sprinter, and to jump from one bed to another in his 13-year-old brother’s room. He has an impressive little six-pack belly for a 5 year old, which I love to tickle

before bed at night. Most importantly, Cole has a gentle spirit about him, befriending anyone and never getting into fights.

But he has three black Batman capes and masks, one a towel with “Cole” emblazoned across the back in the middle of the trademark golden bat. For the trip to Gotham, though, he had selected his special blue cape and matching blue plastic mask. He refuses to wear anything but one particular dark black Batman t-shirt to school (an issue that has cause more tears than any other in our household, since that shirt does need to be washed on occasion). He plays batman on the computer and deputizes members of the Justice League during pre-k recess at school. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he even wears Batman underwear.

I have no idea where his obsession with Batman came from, but I often have wondered if it is healthy. Cole basks in an

extraordinary amount of attention, which he shrugs off as any superhero would, but I am sure that all the commotion reinforces his belief that he is really onto something with this gig. Nevertheless, I am still left wondering if we, as parents, should stop it, despite the tantrum this doubtlessly would cause.

Recently, though, I got a bit of insight into what this all might be about. It was just after the Easter bunny had delivered baskets to our house. We had gone to the little Episcopal Church in our neighborhood and had an Easter egg hunt. My mother-in-law had cooked a roast. And we were all just basking in the idea that maybe spring had arrived even in Boston.Five-year-old boys wake up asking questions. Cole often opens his eyes mid-sentence, as if he is completing the thought he had when went to sleep. All day long, the questions don’t stop.

On Easter afternoon, though, Cole was grappling with what he had picked up between donuts at church and all the candy he had gotten at home. He really wanted to know what Easter is really all about.

I found myself talking about a real man who had something horrible happen to him, a man who looked like anyone else but who some believed had special powers, a man who suffered at the hands of bad guys.

“You see, in the case of Jesus, everyone thought he had died,” I explained. “They buried him in a cave and covered it with a huge stone.”

“Easter is a celebration of the day when people found the rock moved and learned that Jesus had come back from being dead, which proved his superpowers.”

I could see his wheels turning. “Yeah, like when Batman gets caught in one of the Joker’s tricks but finds a way out anyways,” he said slowly.

Soon, Cole had moved on to his next game, playing with his “guys”—miniature plastic versions of Batman and his enemies. But the momentary conversation had left an impression on me.

Faith is most often a matter best handled at a church, synagogue, or mosque. But kids’ ideas of God are closely intertwined with the stories that somehow hook into their growing brains. In light of a popular culture filled with many unhealthy messages that Cole could have latched onto, I found myself reflecting on the idea of Batman as a metaphor for goodness, and even a savior (in a biblical sense), not as a heresy or a result of bad parenting but actually as a comforting support to his growth as a boy and mine as a father.

“ Yeah, like when Batman gets caught in one of the Joker’s tricks but finds a way out anyways”