There’s a type of person that doesn’t really have a name, but you can probably think of someone in your life who fits into it. He’s a friend of your dad’s who lets you call him Uncle, and he gets along with almost everyone, but knows business when he sees it. He gets into all sorts of trouble for fun and still gets his work done. He’s respectable, witty, smart, and best of all, he doesn’t lecture like any other adult would.
Ted Kord is the embodiment of this man.
When I make eye-contact and smile to be friendly, he smiles back, and flushes a bit red in the face. He acts like he’s nervous, which always takes me off guard, even if it’s more from respect than fear. I’m not asking to be treated like Superman when I haven’t earned that cape yet.
He calls me Superman.
I ask him to call me Clark.
He agrees, and then says my name as if he doesn’t know how it’ll sound.
I ask if it’s really that weird.
He laughs it off, sheepishly, fumbles over words, and finally gets them out. He rationalizes that I’m respected by everyone; it’s different to call me by any other name.
I smile to my journal, pretend I know less than I do, and he lets the subject go. We go back to talking about mice.