PURE LARD: SECRET IDENTITY

Okay, so you know what Pure Lard is by now, right? Some shit that I've been writing every month (or so) since back when you were in short pants, right? Yeah. Now it's in tastes like chicken every month because Insane Wayne Chinsang wants me to keep quiet about that time I saw him kill a kid last year-- I mean, uh,.. it's a good time! Read on!
When I was a little man, three to eight-ish or so, I loved dressing up. My mom says I wouldn’t want to leave the house without wearing some type of costume, be it cowboy or superhero or whatever. But, without a doubt, my outfit of choice was Superman. This is back when Super Friends-- in one of its incarnations-- was on ABC every Saturday morning. There were cool toys, lunch boxes, and, thank goodness, Underoos.
Underoos had little underwear and t-shirts for just about every superhero I knew of at the time: Batman, Green Lantern, Spider-Man (which, for some inexplicable reason, also doubled as my Plastic Man costume when needed), The Flash, and even lame-ass Aquaman! And, naturally, Superman. He was and is still my favorite.
I’d run around my neighborhood in my Superman Underoos, wearing also a red cape an aunt made for me, and cowboy boots to help complete the effect. (Later, I snagged a pair of red rain boots, which were much more authentic.) I even had an “S” spit curl in my hair, courtesy of my mom and some hairspray.
Causing a few complications was that I was really big for my age (still am). Apparently, the neighbors first looked at me with the sensitive (and nigh condescending) smiles usually reserved for retards, mongoloids, and People’s Court fans. Mom had to explain to them that I was a giant four-year-old, not a slow eight-year-old.
Fast forward to me at eight years old-- still in costume-- and my mom joined in on the pity smiles. But I digress,...
I was Superman almost every Halloween. Why should it be different than any other day? I often flirted with other superheros-- Batman mainly, or even non-superheroic G.I. Joe-- but Supes was definitely number one. I’d either wear my Underoos with white long johns dyed blue underneath, or one of those weird store-bought costumes with the hard plastic masks that rubber band to your head that usually snapped before trick-or-treat even began.
I remember one Autumn day in the first grade when everyone was to wear their Halloween costume to school. I strutted around proudly in my Underoos and cape, even though at six I was already becoming self-conscious about my protruding gut and thunder thighs, not to mention all the giant sixth graders looking down at me and laughing or pointing. Feh. Screw ‘em.
I wandered down a hall and spotted a girl who was probably my first crush,.. I don’t remember her name. Kimberly or Megan,.. or some such. She was a white chick with dark brown hair. (I’m guessing this prepubescent infatuation had more to do with her resemblance to Lois Lane than anything else. As, most likely, does my continuing predilection for brunettes, disturbingly enough.) She snickered at my costume, too, though! BUT SHE WAS DRESSED UP LIKE A BALLERINA! Who was she to laugh at anyone?!?
Ah, but I was not deterred. And, again, I didn’t need no stinking Halloween to be Superman. At least one good button up shirt was ruined by me tearing it open, popping all the buttons off to reveal the Superman costume underneath. How did Superman do it without ruining shirts? Did he use Velcro instead of buttons?
My favorite Superman costume memory, though, took place at Bobba and Granddaddy’s (my grandparents) house. I was running around their front yard, fighting my imaginary Lex Luthor or Brainiac or Bizarro, having a blast-- just me, my Underoos, and my silly-ass mind.
The right side of their front yard had quite a slope, and, at the time, there was a wall of bushes separating their property from the next door neighbors'. And that day, in said bushes, was a swarm of bees!
I made sure to avoid the bee-infested bushes, but at one point I must’ve picked up too much superspeed running across the lawn. I was sprinting toward the bushes with all the might of my chubby legs plus my ample inertia and the declining yard-- I couldn’t stop! I ran smack-dab into the bushes! Bees everywhere! I freaked right out. Granddaddy rescued me. I tried to calm down. We checked me for bee stings.
There wasn’t even one. NOT ONE STING.
That was it. I was convinced, at least for that moment, that I was indestructible. Like Superman.
Cute little childhood stories, right? Sad thing is, now, some 20 years later, Superman is still my costume of choice. Sure, I’ve relegated it just to Halloween, and I've modified the costume to the more subtle Clark Kent turning into Superman shirt and suit combo. But the kind, gentle, pitying smiles I receive are all too familiar.
VISIT D.J. AT PURELARD.NET.