A Little Batman in All of Us

 A Little Batman in All of Us

By Rodney J. May

Every generation has their own version of Batman. The Caped Crusader has gone through many transformations through the years. Like Superman, the comics of the eighties first drew my attention to the Batman. I appreciated the simpler albeit darker storytelling as the issues were more psychological and less “world-ending” than Superman’s dilemmas. Batman would be up against a maniac with a gun rather than an invading alien army, or a poisoned city mayor instead of an erupting volcano. The darker color palate and heavily shadowed artwork of the Batman comics gave a grittier and sometimes more suspenseful mood. Even the Saturday morning cartoon, “Batman the Animated Series,” was drawn on black paper to ensure its dark style. To move from a greyscale Batman comic book to a rainbow-infused Superman story was jarring to the senses and could be annoying. I learned to start with a Superman comic, move to the Flash, then X-men, and end my childhood education with the Dark Knight.

I was too young for the campy Adam West Batman TV show and found the sixties re-runs were something only good for antique shops and the occasional flashback to a time that once was. I never liked the colorful and goofy sixties Batman and Robin, except for their cool Batmobile with the rad red Batphone in the console (the idea of mobile phones in cars was unheard of at the time). The show did what it was supposed to do: be fun and entertaining, but that was not the real Batman. The real Batman would never dance, say quirky one-liners, and would always know “how to get rid of a bomb.” When I saw Adam West’s Batman for the first time, I thought, “We already have a boy scout,” speaking of Superman of course. The same could be said for the sixties villains as they were anything but menacing. There was no derangement in the Joker’s eyes, the Riddler could be mistaken for a fourth-place Olympic skier in his tight green jumpsuit, and the Penguin reminded me of a less scary version of my uncle Rich. No, this wasn’t the Batman for me.

My Batman began as the navy blue and grey version printed on matte pages of the eighties comics. This Batman was serious yet emotional. Compared to the more recent adaptations, he seemed to be younger in conception and not yet embittered by decades of facing the most depraved people and places Gotham City had to offer. He was quick to call for help from either Alfred or his young counterpart, Robin. He was keener on teaming up with other super people and even led the Justice League for many years. As with any storytelling, you must continue changing or increasing the risks your hero is exposed to retain your returning audience. So, Batman faced more deadly and cruel villains and some of his closest friends and allies were hurt, traumatized, or even killed. I could tell we were going to be getting a different kind of Batman in 1988 when the storyline, “A Death in the Family,” was released.

Jason Todd, the second young boy to don the red and yellow Robin suit, was viciously tortured and killed by the Joker. I remember wondering if this was going to be the end of the Bruce Wayne Batman. Was this the event that would push him over the edge? Would he retaliate and become one of the monsters he swore to fight against? Would he hang up his cape and cowl and sink into the Batcave forever? This was the first death of an icon I had ever seen and suddenly, no one was safe. If Robin could be killed, who would be next? Little did I know that just a short four years later, my Superman would be cold and buried. A Death in the Family shook my boyhood to the core and a little of my innocence was lost. It made me realize that anyone could be seriously hurt and even die. I had not heard of a young person dying because based on my childhood understanding, passing away was something ill or old people did. Now, if a young Robin could die, then anyone could no matter their age. My own best friend wasn’t beyond the reach of death and neither was I. I remember taking my steps a little more carefully and my bike jumps a little slower after Robin died.

If I didn’t already have too much Batman on my mind, he was thrust into the spotlight like the world had never seen with his first major movie release since the sixties. Tim Burton offered his dark and grimacing vision of the, “Batman” movie starring Jack Nicolson as the Joker and the controversial Michael Keaton as the Dark Knight. The marketing budget for this movie must have been off the charts as you couldn’t go anywhere without seeing this new, shinier, and almost mechanical-looking Batman. Coke commercials, toys, calendars, Happy Meals, clothes, posters, and music albums all took on the new sheen of black and yellow. As I ate my popcorn with unblinking eyes, I remember thinking, “pretty close.” I felt Tim Burton got a lot right as he stayed relatively close to the comic book source material. Burton kept Batman as just a man without super strength or magical powers and he did not revert back to the goofy Batman of the sixties. This movie was dark, realistic, gritty, and the storyline wasn’t “too big” for an eight year old comic book connoisseur. It was very close to the Batman I had gone on many adventures with, if not a little more grown up.

If an example of human perfection is what I found in Superman, Batman was a refreshing snap back to reality. In all forms of cinema, Batman was far from god-like. He was traumatized, troubled, obsessive, hard to work with, a perfectionist, a loner, and the definition of secretive. He was a fallible man with seemingly unlimited resources and an iron will. Knowing that Batman had no superpowers was refreshing and inspired me. I knew I could never be Superman, but with the right tools, it was possible to become a version of Batman. He used sleek and modern technology, but nothing outside our earthly realm. For the most part, he used rope, hooks, cutting tools, throwing weapons, and gas bombs. Nothing that I couldn’t fashion myself with enough time and knowledge.

After getting our fill of coke and theater candy, Brian and I ran straight out to our woods to explore our own Gotham City. Rope found in my dad’s garage was quickly tied to wooden grappling hooks and many trees… ‘er I mean…, skyscrapers were climbed that day. Thanks to the over commercialization of the Batman movie, we didn’t have to make our own cape and cowl any longer and bought the best Halloween masks our saved allowances could afford. One of my mother’s favorite stories is of her nine year old Joker getting into a fight with his best friend dressed as a Ninja Turtle on our way home Halloween day. She giggles as she tells of the tussle spilling down the school bus stairs and into the yard. As our parents pulled us apart, Brian’s homemade cardboard turtle shell ripped where the strings held it over his pudgy shoulders and my white and red make-up was smeared well beyond the Joker’s iconic smile. I don’t remember what started the argument, but the front yard rumble was epic. The Halloween costumes made it even more memorable for the other school kids with their faces pressed against the bus windows. To them, we must have looked like mini-WWF wrestlers with the championship on the line. Like all grade school fights between best friends, we were given snacks, had our costumes patched up, and were back together with our old pillowcases, ready to sack our neighborhood of as much candy as we could carry.

Superman inspired me to be the best version of myself and Batman reminded me despite my imperfections and flaws, I could still accomplish great things. There were times when Batman showed fear in the comics. This is the whole reason he chose the persona of a bat. Bats terrify him. Even though I reveled at the chance to be in front of a classroom for a special presentation, I had a very real fear of social situations. I know now that is because when I’m in front of a crowd and all eyes are on me, I’m “in control.” Off the stage, I stumbled through Jr and Sr High school, not unlike many adolescents, and struggled with social anxiety. Sitting in a classroom with twenty other students raised my stress, (especially if I wasn’t in the back row), and knowing older kids could be in the bathrooms during lunchtime made me sit very uncomfortable until I could ask for a bathroom pass during next hour. The school bus presented a whole new set of problems and social rules. I couldn’t sit too far back because that was the “tough kids” territory, but I couldn’t sit too far forward because that’s where the geeks and social outcasts congregated. The childhood social rules of the public school were complicated and very stressful.

I don’t know if Batman ever struggled with social anxiety, but if he did he would have found a way to embrace it and turn it into something useful. What an iconic notion to dress up like the very thing you are terrified of, a bat. What better way to embrace your fear than to become that fear itself? I didn’t have the luxury of choosing a costume of an animal. I didn’t know what the mask of “social anxiety” looked like until my junior year of college. As I walked down hall towards the library, I read a bulletin announcing an upcoming talent show. I knew I had a knack for public speaking, but how could I use that at a talent show? Motivational speaking? No. An informational lecture? Nah, we got enough of those. “Ah! Stand-up comedy!” I thought… but then dread quickly filled my heart. “Oh no, stand-up comedy, my archnemesis.” This was the one speaking platform I was terrified of, but if Batman could embrace and overcome his fear, so could I. When I took the stage I was nervous beyond all reason, my armpits were free-flowing, and it felt like the Scarecrow had given me a shot of his fear serum as the audience of my classmates turned into hideous goblins just waiting to boo me off the stage. My voice trembled and cracked, but after a few chuckles from the goblins, I started to loosen up and the jokes and stories flowed easier. I ended up taking second place, losing to a blind student with a golden voice who serenaded our hearts as he sang and played the piano. I didn’t mind losing to him as even I would have voted for him over my clunky first attempt at getting laughs.

I will never forget hearing a piece of advice from one of America’s millionaires. To summarize, he said, “The most successful people in the world are afraid of 2 things: what’s chasing them and not catching what they are chasing after.” This concept stuck with me for a few reasons. The first is knowing its normal and even profitable to be afraid of some things. Sometimes fear proves to be very useful in your life. The words “fear” and “respect” oftentimes are synonymous. The fear or respect of a bear out in the words may prove useful by keeping you alive. I lived in Alaska for seven years and one of the first things they teach you is how to go blueberry picking when grizzlies are coming out of hibernation. Also, at the beginning of each school year, my grade school children were required to watch, “Moose and Me,” a moose safety video.  

The healthy fear of realizing failure is lurking around the corner keeps a successful person on the right path and acts as a good motivator to continue pressing toward a goal. A few years ago I grew a used furniture business from $20,000 a year in sales to over $100,000 in just nine months. I had to be obsessed with furniture for those nine months. If I slacked or got lazy, the failure monster was right on my heels ready to devour what I had built. Failure was chasing me and I had to keep moving forward to not be caught off guard. I also had the healthy fear of not laying hold of a year that business had ever seen. It was right at my fingertips and after enough chasing, I grabbed that goal and wrestled it to the ground, victorious!

A lion does not hunt because it enjoys the chase. A hawk doesn’t fly high above a field because she enjoys the view. A shark doesn’t track a blood trail for a hundred miles because he needs to get in his laps. A hunter hunts because they have to. A hunter hunts as if their life depends on it, and like the native people in Papua New Guinea, it does. When I was in college, we learned about the forgotten Yanomami tribe of Brazil. This tribe hunted monkeys as one of their primary food sources. Over the generations, the Yanomami learned the best way to hunt these high-flying jungle dwellers. The monkeys lived high in the trees and when shot with a bow and arrow, they would grasp the limbs of the trees and stay fixated well out of the hunter’s reach. The Yanomami had to come up with a solution. The wise old hunters developed a special toxin for the tips of their arrows that did not kill the monkeys but affected their nervous system in such a way that their muscles would relax as they expired, making them fall to the ground and much easier to retrieve. The tribal hunters developed this trick through necessity. Their hungry wives and children were depending on them to bring home the bacon, well, in this case, the monkey.

This same type of tenacity is found in successful people. They zero in on a target and they go after it like their life depends on it. If someone is going to do anything of significance, they have to have lion mentality, they must have eyes like a hawk, and the shark-like endurance to keep chasing. If Batman taught me anything, it was that if I stayed focused on a goal, if I poured myself into a purpose, if I really committed to something, I could accomplish great things and the fear of being pursued by failure and chasing after a goal has motivated my life for many years. Of course, there is caution to this tale…

An imbalanced obsession will lead to an imbalance in life. This will cause hardships for you and those closest to you. Hard work and long hours are a necessity for reaching your goals, but this does not mean you’re required to sacrifice the things that ought to take first priority, like your spouse and children. When I was building our house in Alaska I had tight deadlines and the fear of failure was around every corner of the unfinished walls, but I still cut time out to eat with the family and be there for big sporting events. Now, did I go back to work after dinner at 7:30? Of course, but the kids got some daddy time and my wife was not left a work-widow. Whatever sacrifices you make, be sure you are on the chopping block first. My beloved leather lazy boy collected dust and my camping gear remained in my closet for that year and a half as I took raw Alaskan wilderness and turned it into our dream home. I had to choose my sacrifice; either make many little sacrifices now (like relaxing in my lazy boy) or one big one later (not finishing the house on time).

                                                “A little sleep, a little slumber,

                                                A little folding of the hands to rest,

                                                Then your poverty will come as a robber,

                                                And your want like an armed man.”

(Proverbs 24:33-34 NASB)

Obsessed is a word that describes Batman to a tee. He was so focused on ridding Gotham City of all its muggers and criminals that he missed some of his life's most important parts. I always liked it when the comic books would show a large full-page layout of the Batcave. All the bat vehicles would be on full display, the bat computer’s massive screens would be filled with mugshots and current events, and the mix of natural cave formations blending with the electric boxes and large power conduits were a sight to be seen. As you scan through the mesmerizing details, you find a little figure tucked away buried in his obsession. You see a little Batman sitting alone in the cold open room. No one there to ask how his day was, no one to share his stresses with, no one to cry or laugh with. No one. There the Greatest Detective sat like a forgotten shadow among a cluttered attic. Mark it down: Unhealthy obsessions always lead to broken relationships and ultimately, being alone.

An obsession can take many forms: alcoholism, being a workaholic, video games, building a small business, substance abuse, co-dependency, the demand for ultimate control, etc. An obsession is born when your identity becomes wrapped up in the activity. It becomes unhealthy when the activity becomes more important than your basic responsibilities and relationships, like showing up to work on time, spending time with your family. Don’t ever miss your son’s track meet or your daughter’s piano rehearsal because you couldn’t pull yourself away from the office an hour early. When someone is obsessed with something it looks and feels just like an addiction and this is because psychologically, it is one. Sadly, our culture has “acceptable addictions,” which I would argue are some of the most detrimental because they are the most subtle. As my counseling professor used to say, “The more subtle a sin is, the more demonic.” Oof! He would explain that the demons want to sneak their delusions into our lives by sounding as close to the truth as they can. This way, if we let our guards down, we unknowingly invite falsehoods into our homes and families thinking a belief is true simply because it sounds good and most likely has already been adopted by the general populous.

When we think of “addictions” visions come to our minds of alcoholics stumbling out of the bar, a homeless addict holding a cardboard sign, or a junkie dropped off at the emergency room for the fifth time, but “functioning addicts” sit in our breakrooms, classrooms, and living rooms every day. Some of our functional addicts are not inhaling or drinking away their woes, but rather they overindulge in hours of television, hundreds of dollars in online shopping, or eating mountains of carbs and sugars to distract themselves from whatever pain they are dealing with. These functional addicts will go through life acceptably killing themselves, and when they look around and see their wasted years, energy, health, and potential they will have no one to blame but themselves.

Many people are addicted to their past and have become victim mongers. Several years ago, I was counseling an older woman who was struggling with lingering feelings of depression that she said was attached to a recent divorce and an uncertain future. I didn’t blame her for these feelings as she went through a personal tragedy after being married her entire adult life. She began unfolding her life story and described a time a family member said very unkind words to her. As she spoke her voice began to tremble and her eyes darted around the room as if her aggressor had come through my office door. She put her face in her hands and began to sob uncontrollably. As we continued to speak, she told of a different time she discovered a close friend lied and betrayed her. Again, she had an internal panic and put her face in her hands and sobbed. Unclear about the timeline, I inquired further, and she told me the first incident happened thirty years ago and the friend lying to her happened just a few months ago. Amazingly, my client had identical emotional reactions to events that happened thirty years apart! This told me my client was unknowingly addicted to the way she is perceived by people or her victimization, or both. She either wouldn’t process the pain in her life in a healthy way, or she didn’t know how. This caused her to become a carrier of pain. Whenever she would be hurt, big or little, a long time ago or recently, she added the weight to her shoulders and carried her pain into all aspects of her life.

Pain carriers repel people. Simply, people don’t like being around those who are always complaining about how hard life is, how unfair their situation is, or how they got the short end of the stick. Pain carriers go by a different name: perpetual victims. Victims are some of the hardest people to be around because they have a constant need to be filled and validated by those around them. A life-long victim usually cannot hold onto friends for very long, they may be able to make friends easily, but they drain every new person with their constant cries for attention. After they sucked the life out of their family and friends, they find themselves sitting in a bedroom, surrounded only by their belongings. They have no one to share life with. Their personal little Batcaves become cold and empty indeed.

These issues do not spring up out of nowhere. Poor decisions and the more destructive, poor life patterns are built over time. I saw this firsthand while working with delinquent teenage boys at the detention center where I counseled. The captain of the basketball team, with a stable home life, and good grades did not wake up one Saturday morning and think to himself, “You know what? Today is a great day to get high, steal a car, and hold up a gas station.” The pastor’s daughter who leads worship songs and is held up as the shining example of morality and piety does not just walk away from youth group one afternoon and get into the car of a thirty year old drug dealer to enter a life of cocaine and prostitution. No, poor behaviors are much more carful than that. They come from a pattern of walking farther and farther away from what is good.

Like a ship untethered from the safety of a dock, it slowly drifts away a little at a time and given enough time, your little ship looks around and realizes how far it’s drifted out to sea. Raising little kids was always a stressor for my mother, especially when she had to drag us through the grocery store. My younger sisters would clamor for whatever their little hands could reach as my eyes darted around for cookies and candy to sneak into the shopping cart. During one of our weekly shopping trips, I saw the toys had just been restocked. My eyes lit up like a cat on the hunt and I slowly, quietly, hovered over to the brightly colored wonderments. I stared at the wall of molded plastic figures and pop guns, picked up one, then another, and another. One step at a time I moved farther down the aisle until I bumped into pair of tall strong legs wrapped in dirty farm jeans. I looked up in horror. This was not my mother. Where was she? Where was I? I frantically looked around for my mother and loud sisters, but they had ventured far down the frozen section, unaware of my little side quest.

Thankfully, the old farmer led me back to my mother and as she saw my teary eyes, exclaimed, “Where did you go!?” I held onto the side of the shopping cart for the rest of our shopping. I was not one to actively disobey my mother, I knew the dire consequences of that. I had not bolted like a wild pony down the toy aisle, I did not cry out where I was headed, no, I just saw one toy, then another, and after eight or nine toys that enamored my imagination, it took bumping into a stranger for me to look up at my surrounding and realize I was far from my mother, far from home, far from where I should have been. This story could have had a very different and possibly tragic ending if I had bumped into a predatory wolf instead of a kind old goat. Like kids in a toy aisle, ships in the sea, husbands who catch the eye of the new secretary, or high school students trying to fit in with the kids in the back of the bus, people drift away from the good, one… step… at a time.

Poor decisions come from somewhere. Poor decisions come from poor words, poor words come from poor thoughts, and poor thoughts come from unprocessed pain. A byproduct of unprocessed pain is hopelessness and a person is capable of untold horrors when they have nothing to hold onto. While working with “the abandoned” at the juvenile detention center I saw hope fade from many young boys. One evening a father called his son at our facility and informed him that he would no longer be in the boy’s life as he was moving out of state with his new wife and children. In an emotional panic, the boy, dressed only in his pajamas, jumped out a window and ran out into the cold January evening disappearing into the woods. After searching and following his sporadic bare footprints, staff found him huddled in a bramble bush sobbing. As he was picked up out of the snow, he cried and held tight to the neck of the caring staff. Poor decisions come from somewhere. This is true for a delinquent teen, an older woman holding onto the past, or a Batman sitting atop his mountain of grief.

No matter where you find yourself in life, learning how to process your pain will lead you to a joy filled life. We have to deal with pain, because life deals life and the dealer always has the edge. There is no rule in the universe that says life is supposed to be easy. The great sin of someone in pain is to compound that pain by trying to cover or avoid it with temporary “fixes.” This is why alcoholics always have a “pain excuse,” like a bum knee, a divorce, a bankruptcy, or a bad diagnosis. The problem with alcohol, THC, or opioids is that they work… temporarily. Substances do make you feel better or at least a little less pain for a while, but ultimately these band aids will make your pain increase over the long run. Take unresolved pain a step further and go beyond substance dependency and you will come face to face with an enemy that could take years to conquer, if at all. Emotional and mental disorders are often the result of long-term damage done to our innermost being.

Years ago, I began counseling a young man who had significant childhood physical and sexual abuse. He was looking for help with depression and anxiety. He had a likeable personality and could easily hold a good conversation. He was interesting to watch because each time he would enter my office he would politely greet me and make small talk as he walked around straightening pictures and adjusting items on my desk. Once the room was to his satisfaction he would say, “Ah, there,” as if just accomplished an overdue assignment. His childhood was so out of place and chaotic, that everything in his adult life had to be in order and adjusted to his liking. He didn’t think much about his OCD and had just accepted it as part of his personality. He didn’t realize the impact of his disorder until one day I challenged him on it.

For every session he would straighten up my office, I wouldn’t say anything and allow him to move things around as if I didn’t notice, until one day, I intentionally moved a couple items on my desk and made one picture slightly crooked on the wall. I met him at the door and said, “Today, we’re not going to touch anything in my office and please come and sit.” He seemed taken back by this and I could tell he felt offended. He sat upright on the edge of the chair, hands on his knees, and was not as warm towards me as before. He gave me short answers and his tone sounded annoyed. I asked him, “Do you find these sessions helpful? Do you feel I am a positive influence on your life? Would you like to continue our sessions?” All of which he answered a short but definite, “Yes, of course.” I continued, “When you look around this office, what are the most important parts of our sessions?” Correctly, he answered, “Well, you and me, and the conversations we have.” “How important is a picture hanging on a wall to the success of our sessions?” “Well, not very much I suppose.” I concluded, “Correct, then should you be allowing a crooked picture put our profitable conversations at risk?” “No… I really shouldn’t. I suppose I’ve been letting a lot of little things that don’t really matter get in the way of what’s actually important.” My client began recognizing how his OCD was affecting him, his job, his family, and his relationships. He began his journey towards healing.

Socrates said, “Know thyself.” For us to grow and become healthier emotionally, relationally, and mentally we need to know what we’re dealing with. Before a car can be worked on it first needs to be diagnosed. Before a doctor performs surgery, they first need to know what the problem is. We need to be willing to be honest with ourselves and our shortcomings. This can be a scary process and sometimes we need help from those who care enough to guide us in the right direction. It can be dangerous to look into the abyss of our own hearts because we might not like what we find. So many people avoid this as they don’t know what’s down there, or they already know the darkness of their private thoughts.

Like my client who needed his world to be “in order,” sometimes we need someone to come alongside us and ask the right questions, point out the right paths, and challenge us on our band aids. Dante would have never made it through the rings of Hell without his guide, Virgil. We do not always need a teacher or mentor to constantly check on our understanding, but there are times when pain has gone unprocessed for too long and we begin to slip down an ever-so-slippery slope. We don’t want to find out what’s at the bottom. We might run into the Dark One himself. I wonder what my life would be like if I had listened to my Virgil’s a little more. I wonder what Batman’s life would have been like if Alfred was given more of a platform. Who is your Virgil? Do you truly know thyself? Have you been relying on addictions, whether that’s working too many hours or taking too many shots? Maybe it’s time to do the hard work of working on yourself. Maybe it’s time to allow a picture to remain a little crooked. Maybe it’s time to look up you’re your screen. Maybe it’s time to come out of your batcave and face the sun once again.