Showing posts with label The Big Guy re-run sorry but I'm feeling it today. Show all posts

I'm Not Crazy . . . Or Anything . . .  

Posted by Heidi in

(The Big Guy when he was just a little guy)
I have a serious crush on Tom Welling. This is (clearly) wrong for a number of reasons.

He’s quite a bit younger than I.
We only get together when he appears on my T.V. screen.
He’s very married. (The fact that I, also, am very much married is no impediment to our crushy union. Apparently.)

The truth is, I am way crazier about Clark Kent as portrayed by Tom Welling in Smallville than I am about Tom Welling himself. There are reasons for this. Good, strong, compelling reasons that contain only a teensy-weensy amount of “ick” factor.

He’s drop-dead gorgeous.
He fights against evil--with his fists.
He’s so doggone sweet and innocent-like.
He looks remarkably like (brace yourself for the “ick” factor) my oldest son (if my son’s hair were a smidge darker, his eyes a bit larger, and if he walked a bit less like a duck) (but really—the resemblance is remarkable!)




In my defense, I have to say that I am not the only one who thinks my big, strapping 20 year old looks like Tom/Clark. His middle school special ed teacher is the one who brought it up nearly seven years ago. Ever since, I’ve been dressing him in flag-red and royal-blue including the ubiquitous jacket-no-matter-the-weather which my son can never tolerate for long due to the copious amounts of body fat that keeps him pretty well insulated (so, okay, he outweighs Tom by at least 100 pounds, but one can easily overlook that fact when he’s standing sideways and sucking in his stomach.)

What gets me in the gut are the expressions. They have the Exact. Same. Ones. When Clark beedles his dark brow in righteous indignation or confusion (he’s gets confused a lot for a guy whose been around the block a few times but he looks adorable when confused so I care not), or when he is exposed to kryptonite/realizes he is actually bleeding, he has that adorable pained/confused look on his face, or when he is manfully trying to hold back a flood of tears—it’s my son up there---but with darker hair, bigger eyes and straighter legs (and a smidge less body fat).

My handsome, smart, developmentally/learning/emotionally disabled son is my Superman. He saves me every day by making me the person I am meant to become.

You know what gets me the most?

When Clark mourns that because of his differences, he will never have a normal relationship.

That he will never fit in or feel like he truly belongs.

And when he yearns for a home that he has never seen?

That’s my son up there on that screen.

My Superman.

And I mourn with him.

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