My Kid Is Superhero-Obsessed — Super or Not So Much?

My son's love of superheroes started around his second birthday. Every night, after bath and before bed, he would top his zip-up pajamas with a cape and mask, then barge into his sister's room, one arm out as if ready to take flight, and present himself as Superman. "Oh, Superman, we love you," she'd play along. "You're wonderful. You're amazing." He'd soak in all that admiration and praise for a few minutes, then rip off his mask, and announce, "It's just me, Sam," every time expecting us to be surprised by the big reveal.

This little routine was sweet, if not a bit tiresome after the 100th time seeing it, especially on nights when it would push him and his sister even farther past their usual bedtimes. We did not realize that it was just the beginning of what would soon become an all-out superhero obsession.

These days, my son, now 3, spends most of his days dressed in superhero shirts (yesterday, he told me he really needs more superhero pants, too, as if that's a big thing), playing with his 10 or so Batman vehicles (who knew the masked hero needed a helicopter, hovercraft, motorcycle, and a car that transforms into a robot?!), 10 million tiny superhero and villain figurines, and 5,000 shooting discs that I can't wait to throw away someday.

When he's not shooting me with those plastic circles of annoyance, he's begging me to put on Justice League or see Lego Batman or something else that he found on Netflix that seems vaguely superhero related. Other times, you'll find him in full character, running around our house saving the day, fighting bad guys, and Hulk-smashing his way to a more peaceful world.

Since we live in a relatively safe suburban neighborhood with nary a Joker sighting to date, his superhero work actually translates to him chasing his sister while she screams for my help, pretending that I'm a bad guy that needs to be destroyed, and Hulk-smashing my living room furniture. All in all, not so super.

I'd about had it with my tiny Batman impersonator until my mom, who's well aware of the intensity of his super stage, called me last week to say she had heard a psychologist talking about the confidence-building benefits of superhero play on the radio. Apparently, kids who pretend to have super-smashing abilities or to fight crime like the Caped Crusader are markedly more confident than their non-role-playing peers.

It makes sense. Toddlers my son's age have so little control over their worlds and so little opportunity to shape their lives. A hero with the power to save mankind, stop moving trains, and defeat armies of opponents has all the control in the world, so pretending to be one lets a child try on that cloak of competence and confidence, even if that cloak came wrapped in plastic from Target.

It also inspires creativity. Although my son only just started speaking clearly enough so that anyone besides his immediate family can understand him, he has no problem imagining up entire dramatic scenarios with his tiny action figures, with one of the good guys, of course, always prevailing. It's pretty amazing to watch, especially considering the kid still can't figure out how to put his own shoes on or consistently use the toilet.

While I'm still not thrilled about the damage that's being done to my house — and on the days that he decides I'm a bad guy, to my body — I'll take the superhero play to have a kid that believes he is as super as I do.