I want to make perfectly clear that this it in no way Spider-Man’s fault.
I’m saying that right up front. I know people that work at MARVEL, and I don’t want them to think I’m not grateful for absolutely everything.
This was not Spider-Man’s fault. If anyone, it’s probably Joseph Shivers, who can’t be held directly responsible, but is not blameless.
Mr. Joseph Shivers, in 1959, invented a thermoplastic elastomer he called lycra; you may be more familiar of its brand name: Spandex.
And when I was a little kid, a department store in Kansas City realized that Christmas came but once a year, but decided that if they invited another celebrity to come visit during the summer, kids might go for that. So they announced that Spider-Man would be coming to the mall to meet his fans and take pictures.
I was a kid, y’know, so this was right in the pocket of things I was interested in. I’d never met anybody from New York, so that was super exciting. I asked my Mom if we could go and she checked that it was a legitimate store and an actual ad and then said we could.
So that Saturday we went to either JC Penny’s or Macy’s, because those were the anchor stores at either end of Indian Springs Mall. Kids were everywhere, it was a great idea, very exciting, we got right in line. But here’s the thing, Spider-Man THWIPs. He, y’know, thwips, with his webs, and swings, and does action stuff. That’s not what was happening. He was in a big chair, just like Santa, and bewildered midwestern children were sitting on his lap to take photos.
Let’s bury the lead here as quickly as possible; Santa Claus, a benevolent ethereal spirit of goodwill dressed in heavy warm garb protecting from the incredible wind shear of racing miles above the ground at speeds beyond all measurement just to foster worldwide harmony – that guy it’s appropriate to approach in a manner befitting the fact that he carries within him hundreds of years of wisdom; annually he welcomes us to a moment of focus between the past (himself and his vast achievement and experience) and us, the future; nothing accomplished, everything on its way. We sit and we answer what will later be the question we all find most central to our life perspective –
“What do you want?”
That situation of respect for and deference to the incredible, the truly magical, is sacred. And it’s not meant to be the lap of luxury, it is the lap of gratitude, the lap of faith, and wonder. Those 60 seconds a year, conversation with an immortal icon of optimism and generosity, were a childhood balm in a world of slim tenderness.
Spider-Man is a 15 year old kid, and even great admiration for his undeniable courage mixed with sincere compassion for his unfortunate loss did not create an emotional drive to sit on his lap for any reason. Plus, he was wearing Spandex. All over. And my mother, and some other mothers in line quickly determined that the entire enterprise was a bit unsettling, but as their children were still excited about it they didn’t know what to do.
My turn. My mother said “Hey, don’t sit on his lap, why don’t you ask him if you can get a superhero pose with him?” She spoke quickly under her breath to his handler, who whispered something to Peter, who then stood up and kind of … didn’t know what to do. I wanted him to THWIP, but he kind of awkwardly put his arm around my shoulder like an awkward 15 year old and then we stood there, like a set piece from a Wes Anderson film.
Polaroid. “Thanks, Peter.”
That was it.
But the kid right after me stood up too, as did the one after that. My mother and I had turned the tide; the cut of Spidey’s suit gained significant relevance once he stood, the non-subtlety of which was captured forever in that Polaroid, which I actually have around here somewhere, but couldn’t find it.
Thus I was discouraged from sitting on anyone’s lap from that point on that wasn’t my mom or my Grandpa. This was not, as previously and emphatically stated, Spider-Man’s fault. There’s just no reason to sit on Spider-Man’s lap. You can’t just put anybody, not even a superhero, in that chair. It’s not about the chair.
If you’re gonna be in that chair, you need to represent wisdom, not just talent or power or fame, because what we all want is larger than a present: we may never tell Santa directly, but what we want is Christmas. We just want Christmas to come, we want to anticipate it and then have it arrive, and be there, safe, together: because life outside of that 60 second visit is highly unstable. The gift is the day itself, and not even a superhero can get you that. That’s magic. (Ok, well maybe Doctor Strange – seems a bit off brand for him though.)
So that December, at that same place in the mall, I made my case to Santa Claus for conditional delivery of the Six Million Dollar Man Bionic Transport and Repair Station. Humble. Respectful. But standing, lap adjacent.
He didn’t mind.
Gifts of Thwipmas Past.