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Ry
By Joyce Meier
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At his request, each morning three-year-old Ry's mother pinned a bath
towel to the back shoulders of his size two T-shirt. Immediately in his
young imaginative mind, the towel became a brilliant magic blue and red
cape. And he became Superman.
Outfitted each day in his "cape," Ry's days were packed with adventure and
daring escapades. He was Superman.
This fact was clearly pointed out last fall when his mother enrolled him
in kindergarten class. During the course of the interview, the teacher
asked Ry his name.
"Superman," he answered politely and without pause.
The teacher smiled forgivingly, cast an appreciative glance at his mother,
and asked again, "Your real name, please."
Again, Ry answered, "Superman."
Realizing the situation demanded more authority, or maybe to hide
amusement, the teacher closed her eyes for a moment, then in a voice quite
stern, said, "I will have to have your real name for the records."
Sensing he'd have to play straight with the teacher, Ry slid his eyes
around the room, hunched closer to her, and patting a corner of frayed
towel at his shoulder, answered in a voice hushed with conspiracy: "Clark
Kent."
Reprinted by permission of Joyce Meier ©
1998, from A Second Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul by Jack Canfield,
Mark Victor Hansen, Jennifer Read Hawthorne and Marci Shimoff.
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