“Maybe I am just not doing everything right.”

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Jimmy Three is standing in place in the back yard of summer, muttering quietly to himself. He knows better than to mutter loudly, since his disjointed thoughts might bring laughter or shame from others.

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Anyhow, this is Jimmy Three, some seventy-plus years ago, attempting to work out the differences between reality and child’s play.

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“I have my cape (ragtag towel), my lightning chest patch (carefully cut from yellow construction paper), my cool boots (old sock tops over floppy summer sandals).”

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Jimmy Three is certain that if he gets all the costumery in place, he is a mere step away from becoming Captain Marvel.

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Jimmy knows everything worth knowing about his comic book hero. He knows that a somewhat scrawny young boy can rise about his station if he can only transfigure himself into superherodom.

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Decades later, Jimmy Three is both amused and bemused by the unfiltered desires of the little kid he once was and maybe still is, deep down.

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But right now, all these eons ago, Jimmy Three is still dreaming of power and glory.

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“SHAZAM!” he hollers at the startled shrubbery cat so busy napping nearby.

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“SHAZAM!” he screams at no-one in particular in his tiny neighborhood. Only a bullfrog and bustling ant are within voice distance, and they don’t seem to care.

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Jimmy gazes at the fluffy storytelling clouds above and wonders whether Zeus and his ilk can only hear certain boys here and there. Maybe it’s like a lottery where not everybody wins.

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“SHAZAM!” once more with all his might and main.

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The silence is filled only with whatever is already on hand. No gods to the rescue. Only redbugs and tall grass and baking sun and loose shingles and red clay dust. They were there before, they remain.

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Jimmy Three is philosophical about all. After all, maybe Captain Marveldom is not his destiny.

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Maybe he’d do better as Bat Man, even Robin.

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He gets busy finding black felt and scissors. A utility belt just might do the trick

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© 2025 A.D. by Jim Reed