Lately, more than ever, I’ve been
considering the benefits of “bulletproof.”
I first encountered the concept,
as most of us did, I imagine, watching Superman on tv as a child, and reading
the Superman, Action and other DC comics he appeared in.
Then, as now, it seemed like a
charmed existence, flying powers and invulnerability, kryptonite notwithstanding.
Speaking of kryptonite, yesterday
evening I seem to have eaten some.
Leaving a restaurant in Philadelphia where we had been celebrating my
birthday, I was suddenly and surprisingly felled and doubled-over with a mysterious
ailment. I was taught not to complain as
a child, so even though this event actually worried me a great deal, I couldn’t
say much about it, even as I noticed my family's grave concern as the
color drained from my face.
Riding home to the suburbs I lay
on the back seat of the car looking up at the buildings and sky. I tend to bore people to death complaining about the
horrible contemporary Philadelphia skyline (we have the worst, ugliest
tall buildings in the country and the most depressing city color scheme;
Benjamin Franklin would be gravely disappointed if he ventured a reappearance), but viewed vertically, eyes skyward, from moving sidewalk level the city seemed a dream-marvel, the best thing
ever.
“We are two abysses -- a well staring at the Sky.”
Today, thank heaven, I am recovered.
