Chicken Maaaaaaaaaaannnn! And Other Heroes.

Scene: A small village in Germany, and a green stucco house in Reykjavik, Iceland. Two young girls living an ocean apart create a comic strip through the mail about superheros named Ropegirl and Flashgirl. Every month the two youngsters set out to save the world via their protagonists: Ropegirl, armed with her extendable/retractable hair which ONLY SHE can control; and Flashgirl, with her oddly bionic vision and preternaturally speedy running skills. 

Scene: Two years later, with a love of superheroes still in her heart, the young girl living in Germany pulls a chair up to an off-kilter table at a little joint called "Chicken Every Sundae;" which serves, oddly enough, chicken. And sundaes. The scrawny red-headed teenager is hunched over a dripping dish of vanilla, chocolate, and strawberry ice cream. Maraschino cherry, no nuts. She is listening to her new favorite radio program: Chicken Man! 

(Click to hear original "Chicken Man" Episode)

Scene: Today. 
Ahhh, Chicken Man. He and the Roping-Flash-Girls saved my little teenaged brain from exploding in a world rife with stress.


My friend and I wrote our graphic-novel series  at a time when we each had pulled up roots and moved to foreign lands with foreign languages and customs, and no one familiar outside of our families. Ropegirl and Flashgirl were a life-saver.


Then came The Chicken. I laughed my head off many a weekend night over a too big bowl of chocolate-drenched ice cream, and forgot all of my teenage angst.


These silly characters were real heroes for me. They made me laugh, think, and relax so I could move on in the real world and hopefully do some good of my own. It was nice, clean fun. Nothing I had to apologize for, and nothing I had to worry about listening to. I could forget about everything when writing or eating at my little diner. And then I could approach the world refreshed.


Maybe superheroes spring from a desire to do something important in the world. Or maybe they're the representation of a wish for something that makes us feel safe–all the time. Someone who never fails? Who always wins? Or who is so inept we can always count on a good laugh from them? Those are comforting ideals.


But I'm thinking that maybe we can be our own superheroes. And it's all down to how we look at things: finding the good, never giving up, looking out for the other guy, even patting ourselves on the back once in a while. I think that whole British chin-up-stiff-upper-lip-thing has it's place. It builds real-life heroes.


But just in case, I'm growing my hair out and buying a chicken suit.