Why would a superhero want a sidekick? I guess it gets boring hanging out in alleys and rooftops all alone with nothing to do since the vast majority of crimes happen indoors, so it would be nice to have someone to talk to, but a child? What could they possibly talk about? The comfort of codpieces? That’s not at all a strange conversation for an adult to have with his youthful ward (sarcasm font).
Having a sidekick comes with all this responsibility, having to teach this kid all of your skills all without the emotional acumen to discourage this kid not to lead a life of all-consuming obsession that leads to being an adult who is only being capable of forming a meaningful interpersonal relationship with a teenager. It’s like having a child obsessed with cosplay whom you constantly thrust between you and homicidal maniacs, except without consequence or whisper from Family Protective Services.
That said, maybe I should start training my kid to be less of my boring child and more of a crime fighting minion. That sounds bad. Not a minion, more of an agile, hyper-violent family mascot.
“Oh, you have a family crest handed down centuries past from your Feudal Lord ancestors? We have a savage champion and cape-enthusiast, protector of our familial brand, and I’m sorry to say, once she has unsheathed her sword, it must taste blood before returning it to its scabbard. Shouldn’t have let your labradoodle leave its waste on our lawn. Our honor shall be restored.”
Maybe if I just couch it in the right terminology, my spouse won’t question why I’ve enrolled our daughter in nine different martial arts-centric monasteries scattered across various foreign mountain ranges and started to watch the movie Kick-Ass on an endless loop. If I just refer to this as an early-life apprenticeship, that sounds like I’m creating a life-plan for her, right? That’s something responsible parents do? Oh, what if I just say these are internships? So what if our daughter is only one? She’s certainly not learning anything of value from me.
“I know it sounds weird to send our child to scale the Himalayas in search of an invisible castle that can only be found by whistling the forgotten song of Yamantaka, the conqueror of death; but is it any weirder for her to learn how to shovel fistfuls of Cookie Crisp into her maw while sobbing watching the Planet of the Apes movies? She shall return to us, stronger, smarter, more useful in dealing with the road rage incidents I habitually cause.”
I don’t want her to be a full-fledged vigilante superhero, that would require my death. She shouldn’t have to grow up without the type of strong parental influence it takes to send her to problematic exoticized monk martial arts training. To think, some people settle for sending their kids to military school. It’s hard being the only sane, responsible parent in a world of myopic chaos.