Selfishly, awfully selfishly, I’ve been trying to keep Elijah and Luca excited about Superheroes. I missed my window on Star Wars and I was worried they’d get into something I didn’t like. Sports, for instance. So I indulge them whenever they want to pretend to be Marvel characters. I always have to be Hulk because he matches my dad persona and they also get to be thrown around when I’m Hulk.
Last night, I heard the boys and Diana upstairs playing Ninjas. Ninjas? Was that something I approved of? Let’s see. Violent? Check. Costumed? Check. Loved by weird overweight teens? Check.
I found the guys in a makeshift dojo (our room). Diana was playing the Ninja Master and instructing the boys in the ancient arts of espionage, infiltration, sabotage and assassination. Her unflattering Asian accent sounded a lot like Betty Davis, but it worked.
She would haltingly shout, “Hai! Kick! Double Kick! Jump kick!” The boys would obey. Luca seemed to think the secret to being a ninja was falling to the ground after every move. Kick, fall. Punch, fall. Roundhouse, fall.
When she had them stand at attention, it was almost too adorable for words. Especially since Luca wanted so badly to fall to the ground.
Like the jerk at a party who needs to one up everyone’s story, I announced that I had some moves I’d like to teach the boys. Diana happily conceded the floor due to her love of watching me physically make a fool of myself.
I demonstrated my secret, ancient praying mantis technique, my deadly lion punch and the undefendible crocodile arms. The boys took great glee in mimicking my awkward and vaguely racist moves.
I then sparred with Eli, who could not stop my back flip iron monkey move.