Because I Was Born in America

Women on the Verge

Introduction

Excerpts:

"Because I Was Born in America"

"Eye of the Storm"

"The Wind in My Mane"

A Word from the Editor

"Because I Was Born in America"
From Women on the Verge

By P.F. Witte

Because I was born in America, I knew I could be Superman... Superman...

Look! Up in the sky! It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman!

Faster than a speeding bullet, more powerful than a locomotive, able to leap tall buildings at a single bound... Every Saturday afternoon, the adventures of Superman on black-and-white TV. I was glued to the screen. There was Jimmy Olsen, who looked as if he'd make a good friend, and the Chief of the Daily Planet -- I was sort of scared of him, he looked and acted just like my German grandmother. Then there was Lois Lane. Well, I can't say I had a crush on her, I hated that damn hat she always wore, but I figured she might make an interesting date.

... Who had powers far beyond those or mortal men... disguised as the mild-mannered reporter... Clark Kent... and I, disguised as a mild-mannered girl growing up in the simple borough of Queens, knew I, too, could be Superman. I, too, had powers far beyond those of mortal kids in my neighborhood -- but I was also smart enough to know that I would not be a fool about Kryptonite. And so I set out to fight a never-ending battle to fulfill my dream -- to have the chance to fly just like Superman.

First I needed a cape. None could be found in my house. My father, a truck driver, wouldn't have use for one; I couldn't imagine him on the loading dock wearing chinos, a flannel shirt, and a bright red cape. And if my mother couldn't buy it at May's or Lerner's department stores, well, it just wasn't coming into the house.

And because I was raised in Queens, I had vision, inspiration, determination. It was when my mother asked me to put a new roll of toilet tissue in the bathroom that my creativity took hold. I had found my cape there, in the bathroom -- one of my mother's Cannon cotton towels (a solid color -- no stripes, thank God.) With two safety pins, I fastened the towel to my shoulders, thus creating the perfect cape. That afternoon I made a couple of practice runs through the house, without the cape, for a warm-up. When I finally felt the inspiration for flight, I knew I was ready. With my cape firmly fastened to my shoulders, I started my run from the front porch, through the living room, through the dining room, on through the kitchen, and out through the back porch: the back porch, which was not enclosed and stood six feet from the ground -- a single simple metal bar enclosing the sides. I took a breath, raised my arms for flight toward the sky, and sang out, "Here I am, Superman!" I suppose my force as Superman sent me over the bar, flying straight to the ground.

My mother, who had caught a glimpse of me flying through the kitchen -- she had been at the sink washing dishes -- heard the thud. She ran to the back porch. But I was already on my feet, shaking off the dirt. I hadn't hurt a bone in my body. I had the wind knocked out of me a bit, but that was all, and my cape was still securely fastened to my shoulders. I looked up at her with a smile. I had done it. For a split second, I had flown as Superman had. I thought she'd be happy. Instead I received, "What the hell are you doing? Do you want to end up a cripple? All I need is a cripple for a daughter. Not getting polio wasn't good enough for you? Girlie, I don't need any more doctor bills." Her response didn't matter. I did it. She'd never understand. Of course I wasn't allowed to take a bathroom towel out of the bathroom again. And standing there in front of the bathroom mirror admiring my cape just wasn't the same thing. But just like Clark Kent, I knew, I really knew I was Superman, disguised as a mild-mannered kid from Queens, of course... and so I found my never-ending battle for my truth, and the American way.

P.F. WITTE is a New York City writer who lives in Brooklyn. In 1995 she won the Pat Parker Memorial Poetry Award, and in both 1996 and 1997 she won an Allen Ginsberg Poetry Series Award. Some of her work has appeared in the recently released anthology The Muse Strikes Back. She has given readings at, among other places, Columbia University, the La Mama Theater, and the AIDS Theater Project.