Villains and Heroes

Ever since I was old enough for such things, I've had a rescue fantasy.

I remember a conversation with my father on what would make my ideal man.

"He has to be taller and stronger than me," I declared. When asked why, the only plausible answer was, "So he can save me." (To which my father replied that he hoped I grew tall and strong enough to save myself...no fun, Dad.)

I did not elaborate on what the hero of my dreams would save me from -- but I had visions of being tied, scantily clad, to the railroad with my imminent demise barreling down the tracks. My man would DASH and LEAP and do all manner of heroic things to free me from my fate. Even then, at so tender an age, I envisioned a lecture as he held me safely in his arms, and repercussions from putting myself, his most prized possession, in danger.



In my thirty-four years, I have not once been tied to railroad tracks. And I have yet to see a man dash and leap to my rescue. Thankfully neither scenario has occurred and I have gone on happily saving myself from life's little mishaps.

But the rescue fantasy remains, seeing several evolutions from the original "knight in shining armor".

During college it manifested as a yearning for a man to recognize my self-destructive behavior and intervene, taking me firmly but lovingly by the arm and guiding me toward healthier choices. After college, I wished for a man to sit down and work on a budget with me, demonstrating how to balance the growing financial responsibilities of home ownership, car payments, and entertainment expenses.

Me being me, of course these fantasies included certain ramifications were I not to turn my life around. Those ramifications included (but were not limited to) frequent spankings: reminders in the morning, motivations in the afternoon, discipline in the evenings.



Today things are a bit different. I recognize that I don't actually need someone else to guide me through positive choices or to help me sidestep dangerous scenarios, but there is yet an ever-present villain who needs vanquishing.

That villain isn't around every day, or every week. But there are days when, suddenly, I find myself hostage to the villain's negativity, falling prey to the whispered insults and immobilized by the worst case scenarios, as tied and captive as any damsel on the tracks.

That villain, in case you have not yet identified her, is myself. I am the one who poses the most danger to my well-being.

In this thing we do, my villain cannot be defeated by a simple telling-off or fist shaking, but must be met head on -- heroically matched with words and actions to have her scamper off to an appropriate, unoccupied corner.

When my self-doubt strikes, I long for my man to take me over his lap, bare my bottom and, in soothing yet confident words, say, "Nobody talks about my girl like that. Not even her."

That is my modern day hero.