Growing up, Samuel used to daydream about being the hero in a school disaster. Come break time between classes and he’d be fantasizing about apprehending the shooter, knocking the terrorist’s grenade out of his hand, or courageously defending his classmates from a maniac with a semi-automatic and bullets to spare.
If he was feeling particularly self sacrificing, he’d lose an arm or a leg. Not his right arm though, that was too much handicap and he wanted to be admired not pitied in the aftermath.
It was mass media’s fault, Samuel was sure. All these movie stars only achieving self worth from saving someone else. Breakfast cartoon heroics, blockbuster successes, every single DC and Marvel superhero setting the bar impossibly high for run-of-the-mill high school students. How was he supposed to amount to anything in his tiny suburban part of town?
There wasn’t a war to fight. No drowning damsel in distress to rescue. He could hang around the back alleys all day and never be lucky enough to witness a near robbery or murder. If only Bruce Wayne’s parents had been attacked at the movie theater by his house, he’d have stopped that fiasco from happening for sure. No bad guy, no Batman. The end of an era before it began and maybe Mr. and Mrs. Wayne could have adopted him.
Bravery and true daring might as well have been godlike aspirations for all the chances he had to prove he had them. Nevertheless, he’d persevere. Samuel knew how the world worked and you can’t just go expecting lifesaving opportunities to fall into your lap. These things take time and patience (and every allowance penny for martial arts lessons). He’d show the world he was good enough, that he was worth some modicum of attention.
Heck, he’d eat grits for breakfast every day if only to have enough of it in him.