I have this theory that there are two kinds of superhero fans: those who identify with the hero and those who aspire to be the hero. Your Peter Parker’s of the world have bills to pay. They struggle with relationship issues and daily routines, mundane echoes of ordinary life. Bruce Wayne’s can be stopped by bullets and knives. Matt Murdock’s have handicaps. Mutants never had options. There’s something profoundly encouraging about them having a varying array of applicable traits and despite those limitations, they still had the will to act. From a certain perspective, they’re (so to speak) human; intricately damaged and tragically susceptible to failure but gifting the reminder of growing and learning from their mistakes. They represent what is, offering illumination in the dankest of passageways. So while they have fantastical elements, in relative terms, what defines them is their humanity.

The second type of fan is that of the omnipotent holier than thou heroic. Thor is literally divine. Wonder Woman is ripped from mythology. They’re less revolutionary, vigilante, or activist and more guardian angel. When your childhood views upon the world weren’t yet jaded but checkered narrow black or white and mom and dad seemed invincible protectors, these staples guided you to your basic dreams and moral values, even though it felt you’d never be able to achieve an iota of their accomplishments. These Herculean contemporaries lend inspiration and example to those they overshadow, largely a subconscious metaphor for naively youthful visions of parental figures. They gifted hope. They don’t represent what is, but motivate concepts of what can be. Greatness! So while they may carry some grounded aspects that parallel our mere moralities, largely their identity is known as the unattainable messiah. Gods among us!

Then there’s Superman. Just say it aloud. Superman: epitome of superhero. Alpha and omega! He’s the founding father, 1938’s first of his gaudy brightly-colored race and last son of Krypton. As a self-confessed Supes detractor, I find his goodie-two-shoes personality more often than not immaturely predictable, sanctimonious, and the devoid of suspense. My interest in an alien who could perform nearly any feat has ebbed and flowed at best. He’s just never been a personal favorite. The Man of Steel permeated the pop culture consciousness in remarkable corporeal ways, yet he began to fall into waning popularity with the rise of post-Vietnam era anti-hero cynicism. Aside from the propagandized truth, justice, and the American way spiel, the concept of the blue Boy Scout waned so much that predominately only his “death” broke records in relative existence. That speaks volumes. Yet he may not presently be the most popular of his gentry, still something about his presence commands a degree of respect. When you witness the universal icon, something still humbles all fellow insignias in recognition. Why did even I once pin red bath towels to my collar and pray my silhouette was highlighted in golden back-lighting?

Kal El carries an undying relevance that pervades his archaic sensibilities and slight datedness. Having the chance to tyrannically seize the planet at first opportune, something impedes him: innate goodness. There’s a beautifully intricate simplicity to it all. He’s unabashed purity, delivering compassion in the most Biblical of parallels. There has arguably never been a more symbolic father figure in not just comics but within perhaps all of fictions archives. He stands for this heartwarming affirmation of the can-do spirit inside us all; A God among men and a man among the Gods. He’s decency, kindness, altruism incarnate that perpetuates this strive for more in very real role-model ways. He’s the walking reminder to do good – fictions moral compass. And as a red blooded human being…you just can’t hate that.

You just can’t.

Here’s to 75 more years!