The ‘S’ On My Chest Stands For…

Ever wonder if the ‘S’ on Superman’s jammies could have been his medical alert bracelet? Like, maybe it signified he was allergic to Kryptonite? Geez! Can you imagine the thickness of the EpiPen needle needed to go through the Man of Steel’s thigh?

Perhaps he could have slowly introduced green meteors into his wardrobe — a singular stone button on his cape, a pinky ring, a stalactite pendant…adding a little more occasionally until he was no longer allergic to his home planet.

Furthermore, if proximity to a chunk of Krypton weakened him, why were the info-icicles OK, his crystalline Inner Sanctum no big deal, and the three henchmen he unwittingly released from their prison mirror weren’t an issue? All they would have to do is show up — Ka-Pow! Boom! Splat! Game over.

If Superman were smart, he would have turned his weakness into a strength.

How often do we ignore or allow our weaknesses to take over? How often do we hear a label and then hide behind it? Let me share a chunk of Kryptonite from my life…

When I was growing up, I couldn’t read. I could spit out words, easy ones that didn’t have a billion vowels and silent consonants (don’t those have something to do with the sky or stars?) or anything with a Greek root — I could read small words, but tying those words together to create a whole picture? I had no idea. When it came to school, there was a lot I couldn’t make sense of, and it was torture!

One day, my older sister brought home a required reading book from her High School English class. It was “The Great Gatsby.” I constantly failed reading tests and never made the Spelling Bee — don’t get me started on math — but for some reason, I wanted to — no, needed to, read this book.

Over a couple of weeks, I would sneak into the bathroom late at night. I’d pile up towels and bathmats in front of the sink and let the heating vent blow over me as I read, catching very little of the story. I did this daily until my sister had to return the book. When my time ran out, I didn’t know the story and chalked it up to yet another failure to add to my collection.

Then my mom rented an old movie for us to watch while ironing clothes and matching socks (for a family of ten, you bet there was a ton of ironing and socks missing their mate). The movie was “The Great Gatsby.” Over a mountain of laundry, finally, the story I had tried to read at the bathroom vent made sense. It changed my world.

I started actively looking for novels that had been made into a movie. I would then read and watch, connecting the two until I understood the story.

I have since learned that I have some learning issues (I call them issues over disabilities because it’s more accurate and less defeating that way). The things I struggled with in school turned out to be what made me see the world in another way. It makes me unique, and that unusualness comes through in how I tell a story.

I’m a visual writer, meaning I use details and metaphors (I admit I’m a bit of a metaphor-whore. I like them so much) to describe something in a new way to get the image to stick in the reader’s mind. Why? Because I couldn’t rely on regular words and traditional methods to create the picture for me.

I don’t buy into the idea that one’s weakness leads to their undoing. It doesn’t make sense that the only way to bring Superman down is to give him a taste of his home planet.

We focus so much on weaknesses, other people’s and our own, that we don’t consider the greatness these inabilities have created.

It’s easy to let a heavy label smash you into the ground or pummel you into believing the title was earned. It’s harder to allow yourself to scrutinize the term, understand its meaning and consequences, and use it to your advantage.

A disability doesn’t mean broken. It means less ability in one area, which, by default, implies more ability in another. It means that one isn’t wired in the same way as a general group. So, what does that new-fangled wiring do? How can it make a difference? Can I take a negative and turn it into an impressive positive? Absolutely! And so can you!

What’s your Kryptonite? What letter do you wear on your jammies? How have you transformed your weakness into a super-duper Superpower? Please share! The more info-icicles we get, the bigger our Inner Sanctum can be!