Superman Boy

A poem I wrote a while back about a play therapy session – Superman Boy

Who was that superman/boy?

He springs at me from the bench.

– I want to be a superman.

-Fair enough, let’s see what we can do…

We do the session in the classroom – the dressing up box and the paper and scissors are there.

He wants power and he wants control. He wants to be in charge and command me. Nothing new here – there was that boy not so far back, obsessed with star trek who was ‘command leader’ and had me doing impossible tasks. I served as his companion on that school trip to the Cairngorms…more like his protector – not many had wanted him to come on the trip. I remember the group of us snowshoeing up Cairngorm, him as the back patrol with his imaginary rifle picking off potential ambushers. Trouble is he always felt under attack, and often wanted to shoot people or would lash out at others when he felt under threat. In his inner world he was in charge, maybe a ‘world king’.

Back at the he superman task. We cobble something together using stuff from the dressing up box – a shawl for a cape; he’s not interested in the old tights. We paint the Superman badge on paper and cut it out to stick on his front. He wants wings.

– I don’t think Superman has wings.

– This one does…he’s a new version, a boy version, with extra powers. He can transform himself to swoop and fly like an eagle and peck his enemies to death.

They always want extra powers. So we get some cardboard cut out in wing shapes and paint feathers on them and I rig up a riggidy framework from a couple of wire coat hangers that hang off his shoulders.

Needless to say, he isn’t that happy with the results. It takes a while to convince him that he looks magnificent and full of strength and power.

– OK let’s see if they work then. If not I want proper feather ones.

It’s all in the imagination and I suspect his imagination is letting him down a little.

He climbs up onto the table and points skywards.

He shouts – Up, up and away.

There is a pause while he waits for his powers to kick in. They don’t. He takes a little, slightly unsure jump off the table and manages to plant his feet firmly on the ground. His wings droop and he stands and looks disconsolate and sad.

I give him a hug.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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