At the start of Beauty and the Beast, maybe 15 minutes in, Princess Belle is dancing in a meadow. She breaks into song as one does. What I see, as a father, is not the story of a woman who falls in love with an abuser. Well, I do see that. But what I see as a suburban father (and homeowner) is a field full of weeds. Oh, I’m sure others may call them “wildflowers” or “set design.” However, to the highly trained dad brain, I call them “shit that ruins my yard.”

Princess Belle needs to lay down some weed and feed. A whole crap ton, actually. She would probably be better suited to just going down to the local gardening store and getting a sprayer and a truck delivery. Seriously, she needs to buy it in bulk.

And I’m a little miffed at the Beauty and Beast village. No father figure in town has stepped up with his weed spreader to take care of the problem. If you don’t nip it in the bud now, at the source, it’s only going to spread. Then you are going to have the HOA coming down on your ass. Who needs that?

This is what fatherhood and its consequence — dad brain — has done to my movie watching. I constantly get pulled out of the story because I can no longer ignore some things that I see. I try to, but I can’t. The movie will be going along fine until I see something, that as a suburban father, makes me cringe.

Turn out the damn lights!

Take Blade Runner, both the old and the new movie. They are both very dark movies and I don’t just mean the subject manner. Hey, I’m all down for the robot love of the future. Apparently, all this robot love takes place at night. Which means a lot of lights. But here’s the thing, even with all those lights — neon and colorful — it’s still very dark. My dad brain starts to wonder: how much electricity they are wasting?

I know that shit isn’t free in the future. Is there some Blade Runner dad going around turning off all those lights when no one needs them? And if he is, he’s probably dying inside because it’s obvious they are using the wrong wattage. That light isn’t bright enough. This means they probably aren’t using the good energy-saving LED kinds. With so many lights to change, it’s probably the cheap knockoff shit which means they burn out a lot. How often do they have to replace those bulbs? Whoever runs that city is just making more work for dad. I would totally watch a movie where utility bills don’t exist. It would be some post-apocalyptic thriller where a dad has to scrounge around for the proper wattage light bulb and eat people on occasion.

Stop messing with my property values!

Marvel superhero movies send my inner rage out of control.

When Hulk smashes into a building, what I see is property taxes going up. Oh, sure, the buildings probably have insurance. But that means they are going to have to make a claim, which means rents are going up. Don’t Millennials have enough to worry about? Rents are already out of control.

And we all know that debris is going to ruin sidewalks and that’s the real rub, where the real consumer is going to get hit. Sales tax will have to go up to repair those streets. I don’t see Captain America out there with a hard hat laying asphalt. And let’s be clear, I can’t welcome all those Millennials into the suburbs. That will make my taxes go up, with all their demands for affordable housing.

Then the Avengers will follow and — bam — my sidewalks get jacked up. What happens if they break a water line? Who’s going to pay for that shit? If it’s on my property, me, that’s who. I’m going to have to sit out in the front of my house with my water hose, spraying down aliens and Iron Man while screaming “Get. Off. My. Lawn!”  And, I’ll mean it. Suburban dads have lawyers. I’m going to sue.

Killer little plastic bricks!

Every Lego movie makes me cringe. Sure, they are clever and action-packed. However, when there’s an explosion in a Lego movie, I see a thousand tiny parts going everywhere. Those tiny little Lego bricks hurt like a son of a bitch when you step on them in the middle of the night. It’s like I have PTSD from Lego injuries. The center of my foot gets sore just thinking about it.

And they jack up the vacuum cleaner, especially those clear ones that I can’t see. That’s a half hour just to fix the vacuum cleaner. Then you’ve got a busted scene and someone has got to put it back together. Yeah, that’s going to be dad. Three hours of work just so that I can do it all over again when Batman comes screeching through.

Finally, dad brain teaches a good lesson

Seriously, watching movies is exhausting with dad brain.

Aliens came on recently, the second one, the one that’s really good. Ripley was getting ready to beat some mother queen ass.

“Little Hoss!” I screamed. “Get in here!”

“What?” she asked.

“Come here and watch this movie.”

She sat and together we enjoyed Ripley running around trying to save Newt. The little girl gets taken, the mother Queen lays some gross-looking eggs, Ripley saves the day and they escape.

Little Hoss buried her head into my shoulder, right at the good part where Ripley doesn’t know that the Queen smuggled herself on board. Little Hoss knows something is coming. She can feel the tension of the scene.

“Look, baby, you need to watch this,” I said.

“Is it scary?”

“Yeah, totally. Watch.”

Sometimes being a father means facing those fears together.

The Queen rips Bishop in half. Little Hoss screams. Ripley runs away, leaving the little girl.

“She can’t leave! She can’t leave Newt!” Little Hoss yells at the screen. “Be brave, Rip!”

And then Ripley shows up in a front-loader robot to kick some alien ass. Little Hoss cheers. I cheer, even though I have seen this movie a hundred times. The fight is on.

“Get her! Get the Queen!” Little Hoss says. She’s jumping up and down.

“See that honey!” I said to my daughter. “That, that is what I wanted you to see. When you grow up, be Ripley. That’s who you have to be!”

A dad’s brain never turns off, I don’t think it can. That doesn’t mean that it always sees the bad things, though.  Sometimes it sees the awesome and takes the opportunity to show his daughter how to jump in some heavy equipment to throw monsters out of the airlocks.

But yeah, when I see an airlock, what I think is “Close that thing, you are letting all the cool air out. Do you have any idea how high our electric bill is? Were you raised in a barn?”

A version of this first appeared on The Hossman Chronicles. Dad brain photo: © AntonioDiaz / Adobe Stock.

There are no real rules to parenting. Well, there are some very basic rules like you must feed the kids and make sure they don’t look like a hobo catching the rail from Cleveland. But overall, you can parent any way you want. 

I have decided to parent like I’m in an action movie. 

“Must. Get. The. AHH!” My scream shatters glass. Twilight shards twinkle down on me.

“Dad?” my 5-year-old says.

“Son! Son!” I reach out my hand. “The couch won’t let me go; can’t let me go. No, it’s too late for me. Save yourself, son!” 

“Here, Dad,” he says as he hands me the TV remote. And there, just like a good action movie, the story arc is complete.

See, I couldn’t just get up off of the couch to get the remote. Where is the struggle? What did I have to sacrifice? Where is the drama?

Now I have some rules. Action Movie Rules.

Every struggle becomes sequel material

In the sequel to Get Off The Couch, the toy skitters across the hardwood floor. I inch my way forward in an army crawl. What is the toy? Why do I want it so much? What’s at stake?

It’s the toy to stop the mother of all toddler meltdowns.

So I belly crawl. The boy jumps on my back, uses my pants legs as a rope ladder, and tries to gouge out my eyeballs with his thumbs. There is a struggle. Good vs. Evil. Morally ambiguous motives fight righteousness that is confusing and complex. It is a battle that happens one plot point at a time.

Of course, I could just stand up and walk to the toy. But when do you see that in an action movie? No, it’s always the belly crawl when the object (usually the Holy Grail or a detonator) is 20 feet away. That’s Action Movie Rules. 

There are thousands of parenting books out there. Oddly, most of them now have the word “fuck” in the title. They have rules, but most are not connected to the real world or are painfully obvious. “Make sure your children eat in the morning!” Well, no shit. A lot of those books give advice that is completely useless like “when traveling by yacht, make sure the toddler is polite to the help.” Who actually parents on a yacht? That’s what the help is for. 

Breaking out the ninja moves

“I can’t believe it!” I yell at my daughter in the movie that completes the trilogy. “You betrayed me! My kin. You have gone against the family.”

My teenager stands motionless. Sweat drips off her brow. In her hand, she holds the last of the bean dip. A Frito hovers just over the lip of the can. The confused look on her face at my action movie setup monologue is the only opening I need. Against all hope, I charge. 

With a sweet ninja move I saw on the Netflix original Punisher, my hand locks onto her wrist. I use my legs as leverage and twist. The tables have turned! Now, I have the bean dip. 

“What the hell was that?” she asks. It’s cool, teenagers are allowed to almost swear in action movies. Just enough to let the viewer know that they are edgy and independent. 

“Justice,” I say, and my finger scrapes out the last bit of my prize, forever denying its sweet and chalky taste to the villain.

Everything looks great when it’s choreographed. But in real life, when things go south, the ultimate truth is that no parent knows what they are doing. We are all winging it, and we just edit the stories in post-production. 

In action movies, paper-thin metal filing cabinets can stop an AK-47 for some reason. Explosives are so simple that a 10-year-old can rig Nakatomi Tower to blow. Everyone can sprint. And most importantly, if you have a franchise, you can always come back when you are older for a surprise reimagining.

If only Action Movie Rules really ruled

From the top of the stairs I do a badass double flip and somehow don’t over-rotate. Not bad for a mid-40s washed-up action father. Something is wrong, though. Something is off. How do I know? Action Movie Rules: The hero always knows to go with his gut when something feels “off.” 

I hear it; a slight click. Without explanation, I run to the living room dodging several glass panes being carried by extras, and a guy pulling a tourist in a rickshaw. Action Movie Rules: Nothing has to make sense. 

I must make it to the thermostat. There is no time! I help an orphan on the way, have an emotional connection with him, and now he is my ward. 

I see the light spark on my Nest Smart Thermostat. It has gained awareness. Now we are parenting by Sci-Fi Action Movie Rules. That click I heard before was the furnace warming up. If I can make it, if only I can make it, I can stop the evil machine overlord from coming on and warming the house up from 69 to 70. The orphan gets kidnapped. I vow to come back for him. 

I strap into my exoskeleton suit and light a blow torch because that makes things look more industrial and gritty. I reach my hand out while a disembodied voice counts down.

Three.

Two.

One.

I turn the thermostat off, and the furnace shudders. I go back and save the orphan, which turns out was always my 10-year-old son. 

“That was close, Dad!” he says. 

“Yeah. Too close. But you know what they always say …”

“What, Dad?”

“It’s never close when you believe in yourself, even when the world don’t.”

BOOM! There is my tagline. The bad grammar will connect with the masses, and I’ll go viral. 

“You’re the best, Dad!”

“Yes, I am.” My words are slurred because somewhere between the first movie and the remake, I had a stroke. “Now let’s go home so I can have sex with your mom.”

A version of this first appeared on Hossman At-Home. Photo: © ra2 studio / Adobe Stock.

EDITOR’S NOTE: This post first appeared on the NYC Dads Group blog in 2012. It has been updated for 2023.

Several months ago, after countless hours of Dora the Explorer on Netflix, I turned on one of my favorite cartoons from my youth, Spider-Man and his Amazing Friends. To my delight and surprise, it is now my daughter’s favorite show.

Recently, we went to a superhero-themed birthday party and she went as Firestar, her favorite from the show. Other kids were Spider-Man and Superman, but she was the only one dressed as an obscure character from a 30-year-old TV show. I think it’s pretty awesome that she is so into something I loved as a kid. Heck, she brought her Iceman figure to a Korean barbeque restaurant the other day.

And on the first Saturday of May, we will venture to a local comic book store to celebrate Free Comic Book Day.

Comic books can build a love of reading

As much as comic books are often derided, they can be a great tool for getting children reading. Younger kids will like the pictures and want you to read the stories, which encourages them to want to learn to read on their own. For kids who can read, especially reluctant readers, comic books are an accessible way to get into reading. I know many educators who use comics in the classroom as a way to get kids reading. And as a dad, I think it is a source of new stories to read. After all, how many times can you tell the story of Little Red Riding Hood?

Another thing that is great about comics is they appeal to a wide audience. Boys and girls, kids and adults can find something they love about comics. With character licensing being the way it is, children know who all the major superheroes are as the person from their friend’s backpack or T-shirt. So why not expose them to the source material and open a new world for them?

So what is Free Comic Book Day?

Free Comic Book Day is usually the first Saturday of May. Participating comic book specialty shops across North America and around the world give away certain comic books absolutely free to anyone who comes into their shops. Since the inception of the program in 2002, tens of millions of free comic books have been given away. 

What is cool about Free Comic Book Day? It can help turn you on to something you have never read before and find a new favorite. You’ll be sure to find some with well-known superheroes, like the Avengers, but you’ll also discover many others. You’ll also be able to pick up more grown-up comics, including graphic novels. For example, I found a Valiant Comics sampler featuring X-O Manowar and a Buffy the Vampire meets The Guild crossover.

The first year I went with my child, the selection of free comics included very kid-friendly fare: Yo Gabba Gabba, Donald Duck, and The Smurfs. So there really is something for everyone!

The last time I went to Free Comic Book Day I ended up with a stack of freebies and I end up buying another stack for myself, which is good because it helped support an independent comic book store.

Find a participating store near you

Need help finding a comic book store near you? Check the store locator on The Free Comic Book Day website.

Photo: © bizoo_n /Adobe Stock.

“Thank you for coming in for our discussion of Dark Energy and Dark Matter,” says the obviously way smarter person at the front of the room.

The lecture begins and immediately my ass falls asleep on the metal chair. The rest of me is close behind. But the rest of the crowd is into it.

I should be, too. I love to science. Hell, yeah, let’s science the science while we science! That’s the example I set for my kids, who are here with me. The two older ones, who we will call Potential Supervillain 1 (age 13) and Potential Supervillain 2 (11). When they grow up and kill us all, I want them to remember it was dad who took them to the observatory to see the shiny lights in the sky.

“You can see in this chart …” says the science type person at the front of the room. A picture is on the screen giving the room an eerie glow like nuclear waste has just been spilled. I have no idea what the picture is. Is it even a picture? There are a lot of arrows on it, but they point in different directions and other things are going on.  

“And in this next chart, you can clearly see …” To me, it looks the same.  

The questions begin during this chart, and the rest of us armchair scientists do our best to trip up the volunteer lecturer. She answers them easily, and almost with an admonishment of the stupidity of the people asking them.

I thought my question was good: “Who are the leaders in this field currently?” Ha. That’s a good one. It’s a go-to. Four people around me answer immediately, and I don’t recognize a single name. But the point remains: good, solid question. See kids, dad can hang. I don’t want to brag but I took physics in college, a fact that I have reminded them a hundred times.  

I look over at my kids and they are both shaking their heads. It’s as if everyone knows who the quarterback of the Andromeda Galaxy is but me. But it’s not until they speak that I am sure they that I’m going to have at least one supervillain on my hands.  

“The shape of the universe is …” my Potential Supervillain son asks. I can’t even complete the sentence because the rest of it is in a language I don’t speak. And the answer is not “like a basketball” but instead a short debate. I look at my son and wonder why he isn’t watching porn. See, I know what happens. It’s the YouTubes. This is what they watch on the computer instead of other videos from Germany. They wouldn’t even understand that joke.  

My Potential Supervillain daughter nods along like she understands all this. And there it is, my doom. I was much different at their age. I was riding a bike and taking punches in the face from my brother. Occasionally, when we were bored, I would spit on things. And although my kids do their share of stupid, they are also vastly more aware of everything “out there” than I was.

You know when you say “you have the entirety of human knowledge at your fingertips” when the kids tell you they are bored? Well, sometimes they actually listen to that and apparently this is one of the things that they found. However, I was talking about cat videos.  

I do take them to a lot of activities and things. I want the experience, the adventure, to show them the world is out there for them. But now I’m starting to think I’m just preparing them for finding a way to blow it up. They’ll probably spare their mother. And when I told them I was taking them to the observatory to look up into space and see things, they got on their computers and did some prep work. I’m equally impressed and terrified.  

“With exotic particles …” my son asks. When the lecturer is giving her response, I lean over to my son and ask him if those are the ones that hang out at those clubs near the airport. He whisper-shushes me. That was a solid joke and not even a giggle from him. This is probably why they will spare mom and I’m screwed.  

The lecture continues and I do my best to understand. My brain hurts as it tries to absorb what it’s being told. Seventy-four percent of the universe is made up of Dark Energy (still don’t know what that is), 22% Dark Matter (?) and the rest is observable matter. Please excuse my numbers there. I’m pretty sure I blacked out at some point during that. But it is an interesting lecture.  

The lecture ends because apparently the scientist is a high school senior and has a school thing the next day.  

My kids are picking up this stuff way easier than I am, I know it. I used to think I was all about this stuff. I was the science guy. I’ve built a trebuchet just to teach them some mechanics. But now, it absorbs a lot slower. But not the kids. They have no mental blocks to any of this and can look at it with unfiltered eyes. Their minds are open to any possibility. Wormholes are not so much science fiction to them but something that will truly be discovered and utilized in their lifetime.  

I can only assume at this point that they will use them to hurl me into space. But just so the rest of you know, those are my kids. I did that. And let’s be honest, if they are destined to destroy the world, then I must have done a pretty good job of encouraging them. So really, I’m a super-smart dad.  

Also, the rest of you are probably screwed, too. My bad.  

A version of this first appeared on Hossman At-Home. Photo: © Danomyte / Adobe Stock.

I watch my nearly 16-year-old twin sons and their three- or four-hundred fellow students pour out the doors of the high school they attend. My mind goes back to my own high school days a very long time ago.

A lot is different. No backpacks back then or phones or cool sweatshirts or yoga pants or these damn masks, but much seems familiar. The laughing and flirting and cajoling and teasing; nice cars and beaters; happy kids, sullen kids. Couples holding hands, couples longing to hold hands. Kids with big instrument cases and large art portfolios and dangling lunch boxes and the like.

Sometimes, a teacher or the principal is outside wishing them well whether the students want well-wishing or not. It is one of those teachers that sends my mind back to my own school days in rural Ohio.

Mr. Funk (name changed, because, well, you know — unless I didn’t because Funk is such a great name) was our high school’s head football coach. He also taught, poorly, algebra or something. He always had an unlit cheap cigar in his mouth, using it more as a tobacco plug than something to be smoked. He was a better coach than he was a teacher. I liked him. He cussed better than anyone I’d met up until that point.

Many years after I left those halcyon halls, I attended a reunion and a few of the teachers were there. Mr. Funk and I got to talking. He recalled me quitting the varsity football team my senior year because I couldn’t be on the team and in the fall production of Our Town (in which I been cast as The Stage Manager, a choice role).

He said to me at the time, “Gimme one good goddamned reason why you want to do that the-A-ter crap and not play football for me this fall.” My answer, “There are girls there.” That pretty much shut him up. He turned away and slammed his office door.

He revealed to me at the reunion that he didn’t turn in anger. He thought my response  was very funny and didn’t want to laugh in front of me. “That was the best goddamned reason you could have given me,” he admitted.

He revealed something else that evening: that he was a veteran of World War II. He’d been a gunner in a tank company that fought across Europe and was a major factor in the Battle of the Bulge. In fact, he told me, many of my teachers, both men and women, were veterans.

I was gobsmacked. It simply hadn’t occurred to me. Mrs. Smith had flown bombers to England, Mr. Sharp was a Navy gunner, and so on. I had no idea.

I asked him why we never knew that. Mr. Funk said they were just doing their job, and, importantly, that they were all just civilians now, plain ol’ citizens.

As I watch those students streaming out the double doors today, I am struck with that notion: What I am looking at are citizens. What I am seeing are almost adults “doing their job” participating in a nation, parts of a grand scheme — as we all are. I know I am looking at engineers and designers, scientists and mechanics, doctors and teachers, lawyers and cooks, military personnel and carpenters — citizens all.

I hear the word “heroes” a lot these days, to the point where it almost devalues the word. It seems everyone is a hero. You know the list: front-line health care workers, grocery clerks, delivery drivers, law enforcement men and women, parents and so many more. But here’s the thing. I believe most of those folks would echo Mr. Funk. They are just doing their job.

And that, friends, is what I see every weekday as I wait in that lot. Citizens doing their job. These young men and women, and so many like them, go to school or work from home, and they get the job — the job that we expect of them as citizens — done. All this quarantining, the masking, the canceled shows and performances, the tournaments unattended, the first-grade art show and middle-school recorder recitals gone, for now, all of these things that make a school year a bit more tolerable are currently unavailable. And yet they, if you will, soldier on.

I am, sadly, aware of the struggles many children and young adults suffer these days. I know teen suicide rates are up as are eating disorders and dropout rates. Self-mutilation is on the rise. Depression and anxiety are affecting more kids than at any other time in the past. I know parents are facing incredible difficulties as well. Frankly, the whole situation sucks. I probably could have opened with this paragraph and painted a terribly tragic picture of the state of education in this pandemic age.

But, you know what, I deal in hope, and I have plenty of it. When we do what is asked of us as a citizenry — masking, hand washing, distancing and showing compassion to others — we win wars. We solve complex social problems. We feed the hungry. And, we beat pandemics. We harbor hope.

I’ve read more than one article about our kids in schools that elevates them to the status of heroes. I guess you could say that. But most heroes don’t feel they are that. Most feel they are just doing their job.

Finally, I’ll add this. When we get through this national crisis — and we will — we are going to have a crop of hardworking, problem solving, resilient young adults ready to take on the world. Citizens all, they will be ready to help this great country move forward in hope and compassion, in duty and honor. I see them every day. They’re great kids. They are our future and our greatest hope.

About the author

Bill Peebles left a 30-year career in the restaurant business to become a stay-at-home dad to twin boys. He writes a blog, I Hope I Win a Toaster, that makes little sense. He coaches sometimes, volunteers at the schools, plays guitar, and is a damn good homemaker. He believes in hope, dreams, and love … but not computers.

Photo: ©ASDF / Adobe Stock.

Like most Americans, I experienced the trauma of September 11, 2001, through my television. My wife, 1-year-old daughter Lauren, and I had just moved to the Cleveland, Ohio area, and I was a stay-at-home dad.

That morning I was in my living room while Lauren watched a children’s show. Our landline phone rang, and my brother-in-law said: “Turn on the news.” I changed the channel over Lauren’s protest.

Smoke billowed out of the first tower.

Watching a national tragedy unfold in the presence of a 1-year-old made an already surreal experience even more bizarre. I was unsure what to do first. I did not have relatives I needed to call in New York City, but then what? Call my wife at work? Call my parents? Shield my child from the images? At that point it was not clear whether the explosion was an accident, terrorism or war. In shock, I did nothing for a few minutes, taking in the news and tending to Lauren with split attention.

Soon, I talked to my wife; then a plane hit the second tower, and my mind froze. The awareness of needing to parent an increasingly fussy child, however, helped me focus. There was nothing I could do, and my oblivious daughter needed me. After a few more minutes of impossible news, I decided to take a break and walk Lauren to the park nearby.

But there was no escape from the media. At the park, a mom and her young child arrived with a radio on. After we talked about the third plane that had now hit the Pentagon, we heard more chilling news: a fourth hijacked plane was reported to be “over Cleveland.”

My mind refroze.

The entire country seemed vulnerable to planes falling from the sky. Keeping Lauren safe suddenly became a more pressing mission. As we now know, that fourth flight was United Airlines Flight 93 that eventually crashed in Shanksville, Pa., after heroic efforts by American passengers.

Impact of 9/11 remains hard to convey

Today, Lauren is 19, and her sister, Lindsay, is 16. As they grew up and started learning about 9/11, it was difficult to convey the shock, fear, and anger felt by so many Americans at the time. To my surprise, I found that watching Flight 93 together, a film which recreates that flight’s horror and confusion in real time, probably brought their teen minds the most understanding.

Ironically, Lindsay is now an aspiring filmmaker, and we recently visited New York City to tour film schools. By chance, we were in Times Square on July 13 when a blackout hit Manhattan at about 7 p.m. At first, the scene was not alarming. The sun had not set, some lights remained on, and people remained calm. But soon we started hearing and then seeing multiple firetrucks race through darkened intersections. After some fears of terrorism, word spread (thanks to cell phones) that the cause was electrical.

We also learned, however, that the firefighters were rushing to rescue people stuck in pitch-black, oppressively hot subway stations and elevators. As we watched Broadway theatergoers empty into narrow streets, a truck full of firefighters stopped right in front of us. We saw their intense faces as they jumped into action and headed into a building people were leaving.

At that moment, it hit us: first responders really do run into harm’s way for all of our sakes. While most of us change the channel, walk away or hail a cab out of danger (as Lindsay and I did eventually), first responders race to the dark places. The 2019 Manhattan blackout was no 9/11, but the faces of those firefighters in Times Square made the abstract concept of heroism concrete.

On the drive across Pennsylvania from Cleveland to New York City, my daughter and I had seen signs that read: “Safety Corridor Next 5 Miles.” That phrase struck me as what parents try to provide for their children for at least 18 years. By extension, a “safety corridor” is what firefighters and other first responders try to provide for all of us for the rest of our lives. The appropriate amount of gratitude is hard to convey.

Warning: The following contains some minor spoilers for “Avengers: Endgame” and other films in the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU).

It all started with a son.

Tony Stark (Robert Downey Jr.), who would become Iron Man, the leader of the Avengers and subsequent father figure to Spider-Man/Peter Parker (Tom Holland), was so driven by the ghost of his own father that the elder Stark’s specter cast a shadow over the entire MCU.

Tony Stark, over a series of 22 total films, was joined by others on either side of the dad divide:

• Thor (Chris Hemsworth) and Loki (Tom Hiddleston), both vying for the affections of their father, Odin (Anthony Hopkins)
• Hawkeye/Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner), who protected his family like a secret identity
• Ant-Man/Scott Lang (Paul Rudd), maker of questionable decisions in an effort to spend more time with his daughter
• Wasp (Evangeline Lilly) who shared a contentious/on the cusp of tender relationship with her dad, Henry Pym (Michael Douglas)
• Black Panther/T’Challa (Chadwick Boseman), spurred into action by the murder and secrets of his father
• the collective Guardians of the Galaxy, who run the gauntlet on dad-related issues

That isn’t to say that all the fatherhood story-arcs have been negative. There have been several gems of redemption, love and sacrifice throughout the respective films, many of which have led us here, to the endgame.

My boys are 15 and 13. They have grown with the Marvel movies the way I grew with Star Wars — which certainly adds several layers of memory and nostalgia to the mix. But unlike the pop culture of my own childhood, which was only appreciated by my parents from a distance, our entire family has bonded over the Marvel films (and Star Wars, of course). My wife and I, not to mention most other parents we know, are as equally enamored with the MCU as our children. Our shared fandom has blossomed into quality family time, sparking endless hours of conversation, speculation, and in the case of the last two Avengers films, sobbing.

Ours is a generation that grew up holding on to the magic of pop culture and its effects on society, which made it inevitable that our own children wield it with equal passion.

However, I suppose it only natural that the shifting of our seasons, the aging and adulting we all go through, should provide an evolution of perspective with regard to story. Where once I may have been lost in the wow of spandex and superpowers, I am now intrigued by the connections between the characters. That is, I may love the smash and awe of an Avengers battle, but it is the look on a dusty Peter Parker’s face that puts tears on mine.

Fortunately for everyone, Avengers: Endgame has plenty of both. It is layers upon layers of carefully crafted story and relationships coming together, adapting to conflict and challenging the forces of evil. After all, we are trusting it, a decade’s investment, to create even more memories, even more conversations that we can carry forever.

It doesn’t disappoint.

On the drive home, we talked about our favorite parts. My leg was still sore from where my wife clinched it during a particularly empowered battle scene. The boys couldn’t stop talking about “America’s butt,” and my dad bod received an electrifying endorsement. But there were other moments, like how we all cried before the opening credits rolled and then the many times that followed.

We talked about family, fatherhood specifically, and the bookends of it. Fatherhood has been the fuel driving the MCU machine, whether igniting on so many fumes or making us turn this movie around. It’s been a hell of a ride, and in the end it took us exactly where we were going.

It got a great parking spot.

Scene above from “Avengers: Endgame”: Hawkeye/Clint Barton (Jeremy Renner) and daughter Lila (Sophia Russo). Photo: Film Frame/©Marvel Studios 2019

In discussing “Ant-Man and the Wasp,” I’ve gone to great lengths to avoid spoilers; however, there may be spoilers for “Avengers: Infinity War.” Additionally, this piece is written with the assumption that most readers will have an understanding of the overall Marvel Cinematic Universe storyline. And yes, I know I keep writing about bugs. It’s a summertime thing. — Whit

In 2015 the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) introduced audiences to the superhero Ant-Man (Paul Rudd) in a film by the same name, and in doing so finally laid to rest any argument (or hope) that size doesn’t matter.

It also had an awesome indie soundtrack:

Ant-Man, aka Scott Lang (also Paul Rudd), has the ability to shrink out of sight or grow bigger than the horizon, but what really sets the character apart from the majority of other heroes in the MCU is his being a dad. The relationship he shares with his young daughter Cassie (Abby Ryder Fortson) is the cause and effect of his everything.

In fact, while the relationships between heroes and their fathers have played heavily in other Marvel films, only Ant-Man and Hawkeye have had their respective fatherhood examined (although one could make a case for Rocket’s role as a father-figure to Groot Jr.). Conversely, on the villain side, Thanos has had his parenting skills put under the microscope, which, admittedly, increased his chance for Dad of the Year by about 50 percent, give or take.

Ant-Man and the Wasp

Recently, the sequel Ant-Man and the Wasp opened, and in it we bear witness to the evolution of Lang’s relationship with his daughter. No longer is he an ex-con without visitation rights, but rather a bona fide hero. He’s also under house arrest.

His house arrest was part of a deal made in the aftermath of Ant-Man’s participation in Captain America: Civil War. Apparently the U.S. government didn’t want him in that movie, or Germany, or something. Anyway, he’s spent two years confined to his home, which may seem like a terrible option to most, but for Lang it provided the perfect opportunity to spend tons of quality time with Cassie. Also, it allowed him to create the greatest cardboard fort to ever grace the silver screen.

Scott Lang gets it.

It helps that his ex-wife Maggie (Judy Greer) and her husband Paxton (Bobby Cannavale), who were once (a movie ago) less than helpful in allowing Scott and Cassie time together, are now fully and enthusiastically on board. After all, it takes a colony.

Meanwhile, the Wasp (Evangeline Lilly), aka Hope Pym (also Evangeline Lilly) and her father Hank Pym (Michael Douglas) have made great strides in their own strained relationship, which is nice. Also on the mend: the relationship between Hope and Scott.

It is that relationship that first casts a shadow of doubt for Cassie, when she begins to comprehend that despite evidence (and a couple of paragraphs) to the contrary, she is not the only one her dad cares about. Luckily, Cassie cares about other people, too, and through her empathy she is able to help her dad make a hard decision: do the right thing, regardless of consequence.

Cassie Lang gets it.

Ant-Man and the Wasp is a family film, for families and about families. The movie is full of love and comedy, action and adventure, scares and worries. It is a film about growth, and lots of it.

And, it is about fatherhood, in an ant suit.

Members of the NYC Dads Group recently left New York City entirely … to travel to the Marvel Universe Live. And what a tremendously fun trip it was.

Marvel Universe Live, coming Feb. 22-25 to the Barclays Center in Brooklyn and nearby locations in March, is a show about Marvel superheroes such as The Incredible Hulk, Thor, Captain America — only one of the hottest and most well-known comic book properties ever. Our evening included a behind-the-scenes look at the show. We met the performers, learned how they did their amazing moves, and participated in all kinds of awesome activities. What’s more, our dads and their children were given a chance to fight alongside their favorite heroes.

A selfie station with props, including Iron Man’s gauntlets, Thor’s mighty hammer and Star Lord’s mask, proved popular with all. You also could get an up close and personal look ar Dr. Strange’s Cloak of Levitation and many other costumes from the show, or learn how to manipulate a flaming globe on a rope, and more.

The performers were friendly and approachable, and helped the children learn various fight moves. One by one, every boy and girl got to strut their stuff in hand-to-hand combat, and even learned how to duel with swords!

Kids would see that they could be superheroes too, and finally know what it’s like to toss around the bad guys, and save the day with heroic feats of derring-do, no matter how small they might be.

They even put on a parkour display, flipping and tumbling over objects like superheroes do. Parkour, or “free running,” if you haven’t seen it, is an amazing way to move your body, and this writer has long wondered why superhero films don’t hire parkour professionals to portray Spider-Man, Daredevil or Captain America as they leap and tumble on the rooftops of New York City, or as they battle their way across an alien landscape.

Full disclosure: This writer tried his hand in the acting field a long time ago, and a lot of the reason I wanted to be an actor was for the action sequences, fighting the bad guys, running and jumping through dangerous environments, and so on and so on. I was certified in Stage Combat, and did minor stunt work, too. I figured I’d see nothing here that I couldn’t do.

Welp. I’ve been wrong before, and I’ll be wrong again, so it wasn’t a surprise I was wrong about this. These performers were miles beyond anything I’d ever been capable of.

Nik Nieves, the show’s fight captain, told me that he holds several degrees and certifications in martial arts, just to start. He is also required, as many of the actors are, to play the roles of many characters in the show. He could be Dr. Strange one night, and Iron Man the next, he said, so he and every performer had to learn the choreography for pretty much all the characters to be ready for what came next.

As for the performers’ training regimen, to say it’s superheroic would be an understatement. We regular mortals would not be able to keep up, although it’s assured to make you lose your dad bod.

To put the show together and running smoothly, James Hadley, director of Marvel Universe Live, assembled an “Action Team” featuring a fight director, a stunt director. and an aerial choreographer.

“We worked closely with Marvel to make sure that characters who had only recently debuted in the films and shows, or had movies coming up, were featured in the show, so Black Panther has a big part, Iron Fist appears, and The Wasp shows up as well,” he said. “The other exciting thing is that we’ve put together both The Avengers and the Guardians of the Galaxy … We use the voices from the cartoon shows, so the characters all sound very familiar to the fans, kids and adults alike.”

Marvel Universe Live is more than just a “fight show,” said Hadley, who used his background with Cirque de Soleil to incorporate plenty of aerial work and acrobatics into the performance.

“I was looking for specialists who could do aerial work, stunt work, martial artists, and then we needed to cross train them, because an aerialist might not be trained in martial arts, so we took them to our Marvel Boot Camp in Florida where they learned different types of fighting, stunt work, and even fire manipulation, and they came out with all of these different skills,” he said.

Marvel Universe Live plays Feb. 22-25 at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn with tickets starting at $30, a train ride away in Bridgeport, Conn., on March 1-4, and at Nassau Coliseum in Uniondale, N.Y., on March 22-April 1. The show runs about an hour and 45 minutes with an intermission in between for when the kids start getting itchy, which is ideal for most parents. You can click HERE for tickets.

One more full disclosure – it’s no secret to anyone that my son and I are giant superhero fans, but it should be clear that Marvel Universe Live is for everyone, not just superhero aficionados. So if you’re looking for a fun and exciting show to take the family to, look no further than Marvel Universe Live.

He soars through Central Park, his flight path twisting and turning to the delight of passersby, his satin cape shimmering and  red hair ablaze in the early afternoon sun.

My son, Liam, and I sometimes get cooped up at home for far too long. Liam is on the spectrum for autism, and although he’ll have a typical childhood and go to typical schools, it will be because he was diagnosed early and received the care and therapy he needs. Four weekdays out of five, he either has therapists visit in the afternoon or must be taken to an appointment. Another therapist spends time with him at his pre-school every morning.

In short, my son puts in a lot of work every week. His only afternoon off is Wednesday so we always try to make the most of it. Liam’s favorite thing to do is to run, to fly, and Central Park is the best place in the world for that.

His magical world in Central Park

Our route through the park is long and winding. We usually enter at Columbus Circle, head east to the Central Park Zoo, and then turn north. We will go past the sailboats of Kerbs Boathouse, the Alice in Wonderland sculpture, all the way up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Then we cut across the park to Belvedere Castle, and wind our way through the wooded pathways to the Bethesda Fountain. From there, we go to the bandshell, down the promenade, and hook right past the Carousel and baseball diamonds, to Heckscher Playground. There, Liam will run and play for an hour or so before we head back home.

Liam runs ahead of me the entire time, through his magical world of Central Park.

There’s a man who regularly plays the fiddle by the Heckscher Playground. He knows Liam by name, although he always calls him Batman, or Flash, or whichever identity he has chosen that day. Liam squeals in response, and the fiddler plays music for him to dance to.

My son’s imagination saves the day

Autism has not affected my son’s mental or cognitive faculties. He is as sharp as a tack, remembers everything and misses nothing. But one issue he had was with imaginative play. He was prone to lying on the floor, simply rolling a car or train back and forth in front of his eyes, fixated on its wheels, unwilling to expand his world out from his toy vehicle.

One of Liam’s therapists, Diane, found the key to coaxing him away from this laser focus on toy cars and trains. He would always get very excited when he heard a garbage truck outside, and would run to the window to see it. One morning, Diane pointed out the sanitation workers loading the truck. Liam simply had not registered them. He would only see the vehicles, not the people inside them.

This was partly our fault. His favorite television program was Thomas the Tank Engine, and he would watch some of Disney’s Cars every day. Both shows featured anthropomorphic vehicles and little to no human interaction. My wife and I had been unintentionally reinforcing his tendency to lock in on vehicles and ignore the humans operating them.

I’d been buying superhero toys and clothes for Liam since he first arrived. I make no apologies for being an unabashed nerd. It’s a big part of who I am. But when faced with the question of how to help Liam incorporate people into his play routines, and to help him branch out into role-playing and other types of imaginative play, I found the answer in superheroes.

Superheroes are big and bold, bursting with color, and impossible to ignore. Many of the toys come as vehicles and playsets. Now he would be required to deal with human characters when he played with vehicles. Capes, masks, accessories and clothing were easy to find, and encouraged imaginative roleplay.

Superheroes drew my son into more typical and varied realms of play. Once he saw how a cape flew out behind him when he ran, he became hooked. Now he would not only run, he would fly. His imagination would kick into overdrive.

He was no longer Liam, he was a superhero.

Watching people react to Liam as he dashes by has become one of my greatest pleasures. He actually lights people up. They smile. They laugh. They will try to take a picture of him, but he’s too fast. Their cameras only catch a brightly colored blur streaking away from them, but his picture stays in their mind, like the image of the sun does after you glance at it.

Walking next to my son is like walking next to the sun.

A dynamic duo

Liam isn’t the only one to dress up, of course. I’m all too eager to don a super suit as I follow him through Central Park. Liam chooses which superhero he wants to be, and then picks one for me. The end result is I add an extra kick to the sunny impact he has on people. Those folks already smiling about the pint-sized Batman who just ran past tend to break into even wider grins when they see an enormous Robin bringing up the rear with the stroller.

Dressing up as a superhero with my son has unintentionally practical benefits, too. Liam is more difficult to lose in a crowd, being an easily spotted explosion of color and energy in playgrounds swarming with kids. Conversely, my costume makes it easy for him to find me. Without planning it, our superhero outfits have become safety features, ensuring that we will never lose each other.

The superhero outfits, surprisingly, have also made me more approachable. Like a lot of dads on a playground full of moms, I’ve felt out of place at times, like an intruder. Granted, this feeling subsides (mostly because it isn’t really true) but that sense that I’m unwelcome, that I’m viewed with suspicion because I’m a man, comes back from time to time.

That all goes away when you’re wearing a Green Lantern outfit and your little Superman is directing you where to go to stop the next fiendish threat to the planet. It’s difficult to be perceived as a threat to anyone when you’re saving the world. You are immediately considered a safe space by all, and parents and children alike will come over and talk to you.

Making friends as a grown-up can be unnecessarily difficult, and a superhero shirt can circumvent that.When you’re focusing on what’s fun for your kid, you’re not worried about how others might be seeing you, and that’s the key to improving playground time for your child and you.

It’s seems weirdly ironic to not worry about how others see you when you’re wearing a Batman mask, but there it is. Superhero outfits can make you less self conscious while simultaneously making you more conspicuous. Funny, that.

So while I originally intended for superheroes to help Liam work through his issues, they’ve also ended up helping me with mine. But the secret here is not the costume but the time we’re spending together. Superheroes may be the conduit for that, and they can be switched out for anything else. Use whatever you are into — sports, music, bottle caps — as a starting point to find what your child really likes and how you can encourage him or her. That’s kind of a big part of what parenting is all about.

The point is, you don’t need to use superheroes, and you don’t need to be in Central Park. You can do this anywhere, with anything.

From Dynamic Duo to Justice League

It’s time for the play-date now. Liam’s preschool friends frequent Central Park as well, and we meet either on the Great Lawn or one of the playgrounds most every Wednesday. It’s a recent development, but a welcome one. The other kids all make sure to let me know they want capes, too. No problem. We have enough.

So we’ve gone from a Dynamic Duo to a full-on Justice League. Batman and Captain America team up with Wonder Woman and Paw Patrol Boy, or whomever else the children dream up. Now, whenever you visit Central Park on Wednesdays, you must keep an eye out for lots of low flying superheroes.

A little over a year ago, Liam was still barely speaking. He still had a tendency to withdraw into himself, and was slow to socialize with other children. To see him now, leading the Avengers in a charge across the Great Lawn seems nothing short of miraculous. Which is the kind of thing superheroes do, I suppose.

He soars through Central Park, his flight path twisting and turning to the delight of passersby, his satin cape shimmering, and the golden late afternoon sun setting his red hair ablaze, like a joyful fire.

My heart burns there, too.

“You will travel far, my little Kal-El, but we will never leave you, even in the face of our death. The richness of our lives shall be yours. All that I have, all that I’ve learned, everything I feel, all this and more, I bequeath you, my son. You will carry me inside you, all the days of your life.

You will make my strength your own, and see my life through your eyes, as your life will be seen through mine.” ~ Marlon Brando/Jor-El in Superman: the Movie