to worry only about crimes committed in Metropolis. What about the whole world? Couldn’t I prevent wars? Stop slavery? Divert rivers and prevent drought? Distribute food and stop hunger? I could work every second, and still the job wouldn’t be done.” He looked at her, his blue eyes sorrowful and intense.
His mother gave him a wistful smile. “Your father used to talk like that when he saw how much work needed to be done around the farm. Thought it would never get done…and yet it did.”
Clark shook his head and took the last bite of pie. “Here I am in your kitchen as mild-mannered Clark Kent. But what business do I have trying to lead a ‘normal’ life? Doesn’t the world need Superman to be a hero twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?”
Surprisingly, Martha chided him gently. “Clark, you’re entitled to your own life. You deserve to know people, to observe them, so that problems like the ones in those letters you’re reading won’t be such a mystery to you.” She couldn’t resist and leaned over to kiss him lovingly on the cheek. “You have to learn to be human as well as a super hero. Pay more attention to your friends, your relationships. Spend time with your pal Jimmy Olsen. And I know you’re sweet on that Lois Lane.”
He glanced away, embarrassed. “She certainly likes Superman, but I doubt she notices Clark Kent.”
His mother patted him on the shoulder. “Dear, you keep forgetting that they’re one and the same. It doesn’t matter whether you wear a suit and tie or a blue outfit and red cape. It’s who you are inside. You’re a good man, Clark. Lois seems to be as sharp as a tack—I guarantee you she’s noticed. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“I will. In fact, we’re planning to have coffee together. If she remembers.”
“Of course she’ll remember, dear. How could a girl forget something like that? But as for you, young man, remember that life isn’t just one emergency after another. You need to live and experience the joys that are around you. Don’t define yourself as nothing more than a hero. Let yourself be a man, too.”
He felt choked up listening to her, and he knew she was right. “Pa always told me that the harvest wasn’t only about the grain we loaded and earning a living—he made me smell the fresh-cut hay, sweet as it dried in the sun, and feel the cool spray of water from the irrigators on a hot day. He would just stand there after the sun set and the night dew started to come out, and he’d take a long inhale…and just breathe in the farm and the crops and the earth itself.”
“That’s it, Clark. Jonathan helped me see the same thing when we were just courting.” She hugged him.
“I’ll pay more attention to being human and not just look for emergencies to solve. I promise.”
Martha smiled. She knew one thing for certain—Clark Kent always kept his promises.
WAYNE TOWER
A S THE MAJORITY CORPORATE SHAREHOLDER, BRUCE Wayne occupied the most desirable corner office in Wayne Tower, complete with leather-upholstered furniture, mahogany desk, thick carpeting. An engraved holder with a pen and a letter opener graced the olive-green desk blotter. The few papers in his in-box were neatly stacked. Nothing was marked urgent.
Behind him, the wood-paneled wall was covered with civic awards, thank-you letters, a framed crayon drawing from a child whose cancer had been treated at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Wing. He had recently hung (partly as a joke) the framed glossy photograph of himself with Clark Kent.
No one expected a man like Bruce to keep regular hours or to spend a lot of time at his actual office. He rarely put in a full day’s work—after all, a playboy millionaire had many other things to do. However, he intentionally adhered to an eccentric schedule so that no one would think twice if he came in at odd hours, stayed late or wandered the halls. It worked to his advantage now.
His suspicions about the Wayne Enterprises
His mother gave him a wistful smile. “Your father used to talk like that when he saw how much work needed to be done around the farm. Thought it would never get done…and yet it did.”
Clark shook his head and took the last bite of pie. “Here I am in your kitchen as mild-mannered Clark Kent. But what business do I have trying to lead a ‘normal’ life? Doesn’t the world need Superman to be a hero twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week?”
Surprisingly, Martha chided him gently. “Clark, you’re entitled to your own life. You deserve to know people, to observe them, so that problems like the ones in those letters you’re reading won’t be such a mystery to you.” She couldn’t resist and leaned over to kiss him lovingly on the cheek. “You have to learn to be human as well as a super hero. Pay more attention to your friends, your relationships. Spend time with your pal Jimmy Olsen. And I know you’re sweet on that Lois Lane.”
He glanced away, embarrassed. “She certainly likes Superman, but I doubt she notices Clark Kent.”
His mother patted him on the shoulder. “Dear, you keep forgetting that they’re one and the same. It doesn’t matter whether you wear a suit and tie or a blue outfit and red cape. It’s who you are inside. You’re a good man, Clark. Lois seems to be as sharp as a tack—I guarantee you she’s noticed. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”
“I will. In fact, we’re planning to have coffee together. If she remembers.”
“Of course she’ll remember, dear. How could a girl forget something like that? But as for you, young man, remember that life isn’t just one emergency after another. You need to live and experience the joys that are around you. Don’t define yourself as nothing more than a hero. Let yourself be a man, too.”
He felt choked up listening to her, and he knew she was right. “Pa always told me that the harvest wasn’t only about the grain we loaded and earning a living—he made me smell the fresh-cut hay, sweet as it dried in the sun, and feel the cool spray of water from the irrigators on a hot day. He would just stand there after the sun set and the night dew started to come out, and he’d take a long inhale…and just breathe in the farm and the crops and the earth itself.”
“That’s it, Clark. Jonathan helped me see the same thing when we were just courting.” She hugged him.
“I’ll pay more attention to being human and not just look for emergencies to solve. I promise.”
Martha smiled. She knew one thing for certain—Clark Kent always kept his promises.
WAYNE TOWER
A S THE MAJORITY CORPORATE SHAREHOLDER, BRUCE Wayne occupied the most desirable corner office in Wayne Tower, complete with leather-upholstered furniture, mahogany desk, thick carpeting. An engraved holder with a pen and a letter opener graced the olive-green desk blotter. The few papers in his in-box were neatly stacked. Nothing was marked urgent.
Behind him, the wood-paneled wall was covered with civic awards, thank-you letters, a framed crayon drawing from a child whose cancer had been treated at the Thomas Wayne Memorial Wing. He had recently hung (partly as a joke) the framed glossy photograph of himself with Clark Kent.
No one expected a man like Bruce to keep regular hours or to spend a lot of time at his actual office. He rarely put in a full day’s work—after all, a playboy millionaire had many other things to do. However, he intentionally adhered to an eccentric schedule so that no one would think twice if he came in at odd hours, stayed late or wandered the halls. It worked to his advantage now.
His suspicions about the Wayne Enterprises
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