She came running from behind me, and swooshed by, with a quick step, arms pumping up and down, giving her the beautiful rhythm I think she has. I’ve said it a hundred times, I’ll say it again: Daughter knows how to run!

She stopped, and opened her jacket, then took it off, ignoring Wife’s and my protest.

“I’ll wear it, I’ll wear the hood over my head. Just the hood,” she said, then asked me to help her put on the jacket so the hood was over her head.

I did, and then kept on walking. Two seconds later she came running again – oh, so beautifully – yelling that she was a superhero.

I did the same thing when I was a kid as did surely millions of kids around the world. I would wear my yellow bathrobe an jump down from the benches in the sauna dressing room, pretending I was flying. I know I haven’t told Daughter about that, so it must be an idea that just occurred to her. And to millions of kids around the world.

We all want to be superheros. We all want to be powerful. We all want to be special. Only the heroes change.

In her head, Daughter was Batman.

Jumping down from that bench in a Helsinki suburb decades earlier, I wanted to be Super-Goofy.