A surrogate dad. America's guardian. What Superman means to us.

Washington Post

2 days ago

Larry Tye's July 14 op-ed, 'Fear of a 'woke' Superman,' and Jennifer Finney Boylan's July 13 online op-ed, 'Superman's father taught me how to write,' explored the meaning of one of America's original superheroes as he returned to the big screen. Post Opinions asked readers how they felt about Superman — and Clark Kent. These are some of their responses.
The best line I heard in any version of Superman came from the TV series 'Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman.' It took Lois Lane (Teri Hatcher) quite a while to discover that her work colleague Clark Kent (Dean Cain) was Superman. He tried to explain his two personas to her this way: 'Superman is what I can do. Clark is who I am.'
Although he could fly and lift tremendous weights, and bullets bounced off his chest, he was the son of the Kents, that good, kind and sometimes humorous couple in Kansas. That's why he wanted to use his powers to save lives and help people by doing things that humans couldn't. And he didn't want to take credit, nor to endanger people he loved, so he disguised himself when he did those things. His 'secret identity' was Superman, not Clark Kent.
Tina Rhea, Greenbelt
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The protector of democracy
As a child growing up in a suburb of Boston during World War II, I was addicted to comic books, and Superman and Batman were my regulars. My father was away in Europe serving in the Army as a doctor. We all knew how terrifying the Nazis were. And until the American landing in Normandy, I felt as if only Superman and Batman were there to protect us from invasion.
Charles Halsted, Davis, California
A male role model
I grew up in the '50s and '60s, and my first encounter with Superman was in 'Adventures of Superman,' the TV series starring George Reeves. Being a skinny kid with no father in our home, I was fascinated by the idea of a person with incredible powers who could right wrongs and protect the innocent. I imagined that was how most kids felt about their actual fathers. Superman fit the bill of an idealized father, even though I knew he wasn't real. I was bullied a bit in school until I hit adolescence, and I always felt that Superman himself, or having his powers, would keep those kids from bothering me.
I bought most of the Superman comic books back then (I wish I had kept them!), and he was always my favorite superhero. The most wonderful power was, for me, the ability to fly. Fly away from your problems, float on clouds, visit faraway lands and just enjoy the freedom that such an ability gives you. I remember pretending to fly like Reeves did in the TV series: He would run a bit, then hop once and launch himself. I did that all the time as a kid, imagining I was soaring.
We were relatively poor. My mother had five children, and we lived in my grandmother's house, which provided all of us with shelter and food but not much else. With no father figure to encourage physical activity, I didn't do a lot to get in shape: no sports or hiking, except when my mother's sister and her family visited us. I was very self-conscious about my lacking physique at that time and fantasized about being like Superman (or Superboy), protecting innocent people and stopping criminals.
I always thought the supervillains in most Superman comics were unrealistic, and I didn't care for most of them. But stopping crimes, saving people in distress and standing up for all that is good are the characteristics of Superman that I always treasured — and still do.
Stephen Tenbrink, Fort Collins, Colorado
A distant ideal
There are two words that appear in all of my published novels. One is 'volcano,' and the other is 'Superman.' You can make of 'volcano' what you wish, but the fact that I can't resist invoking Superman suggests that he burrowed more deeply into my psyche during childhood than any other character or cultural artifact.
When I was a kid, I thought that Superman on TV looked a lot like my father. It's hard to see the resemblance now, but I'm sure a psychologist would have something to say about my perception.
Elements of those comics, among them the Fortress of Solitude and the Bottle City of Kandor, still seem to me as memorable and evocative as anything I've seen or read in movies and novels.
When I refer to Superman in fiction, it's always as a physical and moral ideal, compared with which my protagonists see themselves falling woefully, comically short. And when I see President Donald Trump's administration posting an unironic image of him dressed in a Superman suit on social media, I think, 'Truth, justice and the American way' — what a neat encapsulation of the things he violates every day.
Michael Laser, Montclair, New Jersey
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Putting on the cape
At age 14, I became Superman.
I was in a radio workshop in New York where teens learned how to tell audio stories. We'd get up super early for our audio production class, then head to WBAI, where our teachers handed us the reins to a live call-in show called 'Once Upon the Air.' One day we decided, 'Let's interview Superman.'
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My friend Frank Linkh was the interviewer, and I was Superman. I wanted my hero to be honest and grounded, to listen to children with care, to be clear about his moral compass and to connect with the audience. Most importantly, our entire team wanted to spread magic, wonder and delight. We committed fully so the audience could be transported. After all, this was a show for children, some of whom were excited to know that Superman would take time out of his schedule to talk with them.
After he asked me questions, we took calls from children and adults. They wanted to know everything from 'What does it feel like to fly?' to 'Why aren't you married?' Folks asked what I'd done about social issues, whether I supported a draft and how I switched so quickly from my regular suit into my costume. They also asked about the Superman movies and whether I considered myself to be a scientist. Afterward, I couldn't stop smiling. I felt like I could do anything. My worldview has continued to match Kal-El's. Seeing the new movie felt like going home again.
Zohar Rom, Arlington
A real superhero
I was 11 years old in 1978 when the first Superman movie starring Christopher Reeve came out. It was amazing not only to see Superman fly and witness good triumph over evil, but to watch a mild-mannered man morph into a hero and fight against his vulnerability to kryptonite, which threatened to debilitate him and destroy his life.
In 1989, I would need to summon similar strength and courage. I was a passenger in a car that lost control, and I was thrown 100 feet from the vehicle. I woke up and knew immediately something was wrong. I could not feel my legs. In the hospital, the doctors told me I suffered a spinal cord injury and would never walk again or be able to have children. Just as I was flying into adulthood, my wings were clipped. My injury became my kryptonite, threatening to destroy me.
Because I had an incomplete injury, I worked to regain as much movement and muscle as possible. But even after leaving the hospital and subacute care, I had so many questions: How do I get up the stairs? How do I drive? How will I continue with therapy? How do I live this new life? Thankfully, the American Paralysis Association — now known as the Christopher & Dana Reeve Foundation — was there to answer the questions and provide me with the help I so desperately needed.
Six years after I was hurt, Reeve also suffered a spinal cord injury, resulting in paralysis from the neck down. His character's on-screen struggle became all too real. Not only did he need his strength for himself, but he also still continued to help people in need. He became a spokesperson for all of us.
I was fortunate enough to have spent time with Christopher and his wife, Dana. They were remarkable people. Not only did they seek to find a cure for spinal injuries, but they also created the foundation's National Paralysis Resource Center. The center is a place where those with spinal cord injuries and other forms of paralysis can get answers for their urgent questions. They help and support family members who become caregivers. The need is great: Roughly 5.5 million Americans use wheelchairs. About 17,000 people in the U.S. sustain spinal cord injuries each year.
Unfortunately, the president's fiscal 2026 budget proposal would eliminate funding for the center. It is my sincerest hope that our government rejects this proposal and keeps the Superman legacy alive.
Stacey Mahdavian, Basking Ridge, New Jersey