Always one to pursue useless knowledge wherever he can find it in a seemingly never-ending quest to achieve the improbable and downright unlikely status of modern-day Renaissance man, Mark Bittmann has indulged his desire to never be lost in any conversation, by developing an arcane understanding of things of little consequence or import while maintaining his alleged status as a small fish in a small pond.
As long as his self-indulgent whim is catered to, he manages to sustain the facade of someone under the misperception that others care about what he thinks. With a ubiquity normally reserved for greenhouse gasses, he chases his random and inconsequential thoughts with all the tenacity of a banana peel. This is his life, his curse, and his twisted and maniacal way of impressing the ladies.
How does a superhero know when enough is enough and it is time to mothball the spandex and retire? Is there a 401(k) program for super-powered beings to contribute, or is that only an option for those that have managed to land a gig with a high-profile…like being a member of the Avengers or something? Assuming they have been wise enough to think about their future after a life of crime-fighting and glory-seeking, what kind of activities and lifestyle can they expect to lead long after they have been replaced by the next generation of costumed do-gooders? Further assuming they are not a complete obsessive personality and look upon the vocation of costumed heroics as more of a career than a mission in life, what is the standard age of superhero retirement? Do they have a set time, or do they simply wait until they cannot take the pressure of the daily grind anymore? Perhaps they take the hint when they find their gifts increasingly redundant or old-fashioned, their methods outdated or sense of right and wrong quaint?
I don’t know about you, but I have thought about retirement since the day I entered the rat race many, many years ago (I’m not as old as Spider-Man, but I’m not too awfully far behind him in age either) and have planned for it accordingly. Now that I’m half of the way through what I have determined will be a 35+ year career as a cog in the machine, I can finally relax a little and enjoy the ride downhill for a time. I have been feverishly keeping track of the books I am waiting until retirement to read as well as buying them up whenever confronted with a nice edition at a good price. I have a mental list of the places I’d very much like to travel to and in which order I will visit each (Europe first, then Asia). I even have an inkling as to where I’d like to eventually reside (Alaska). I figure that by the time I retire, the world will finally be my oyster. I will be able to do what I want, when and where I want.
How can a superhero hope to enjoy a similar lifestyle of relaxation after spending a lifetime making enemies that would just as soon see you dead as retired? Their life as a retiree probably requires being on the lookout for balding former foes blasting in from the past and looking for a little payback long after they should have given up nefarious activities. There isn’t a supervillain union to take medical care of aging baddies and assure that their golden years aren’t reliant upon Social Security, so they probably have to stay within the work force long after most of the vigilantes have closed shop. It’s doubtful they will settle for slinging hash and serving up hamburgers after having made their living knocking off banks, seeking world domination and whatnot. Such a predicament would probably generate a measure of bitterness within them and nothing makes them feel better than the possibility of humiliating an aging superhero for sport.
If they spent their career behind a mask, a hero need only worry about those aware of their secret identity or those with access to the kind of databases incorporated by superhero organizations. There has got to be a better sense of freedom if one can venture out in public without constantly having to guard against a spontaneous attack from some costumed evildoer looking for a grudge match, so a relatively peaceful retirement probably favors those that opt for a secret identity.
If they’re smart, they have managed to cultivate an image that will stay marketable long after they retire, like many athletes have managed. Men as symbols of virility have a shelf-life long past their prime and I would imagine the mass appeal of a retired hero resting on much-deserved laurels holds an endless attraction for us normal folk. Heroes may age, but many could still wipe the floor with an average human and bench-press a battleship without working up a sweat, so someone like Superman could hawk Old Spice and Viagra for years after hanging up his cape. There is likely some serious coin to be made by heroes unafraid to remain in the spotlight after retirement and aligning the right product with the appropriate spokesperson would doubtless prove profitable for all concerned.
But wouldn’t an incredibly powerful guy like Superman be bored in retirement. He’s already traveled not only to the ends of the Earth but to the far reaches of the Milky Way and beyond as well. Traveling would only be an exercise in killing time. He’s too powerful to just lounge around a country club playing golf and tennis. Physical activities of the mere mortal variety probably hold little appeal to one whose powers literally take the sport out of any he may pursue. An individual sport like golf may entertain him for a couple of days past the one it took to master, but team sports are out of the question due to power discrepancies. Only both a teammate and opposition of equal power would produce any sort of challenge. A guy like Superman just hasn’t got a whole lot on this Earth to entertain him far into the future and given that he is probably going to life longer than the average Joe, he will require more than our planet has to offer. He can read every book ever published, both fiction and non, on a Sunday morning and devour the New York Times before his coffee gets cold, so an intellectual pursuit of the sum of mankind’s knowledge would be a brief one for the Man of Steel. Wouldn’t he be bored with it all eventually? Being the only person who is capable of realistically stating that he most certainly has done and seen it all, that he is truly a modern-day renaissance man, sooner or later he will be looking for more worlds to conquer. Why confine one’s intellectual expertise to the sum knowledge of one race of intelligent beings when the universe offers the endless, constantly evolving perspectives of countless civilizations? That would be limiting oneself. A bit of a waste if a person is capable of going anywhere in the universe on a whim.
Or maybe retirement doesn’t have to be so complicated. Maybe it actually favors mortality. Maybe a guy like Bruce Wayne, a normal guy out of costume, can look forward to aging gracefully, playing 18 holes at the country club, catching up on a lifetime of missed sleep and enjoying his talent as essentially the worlds greatest all-around athlete as he actually uses these gifts participating in sport. What a novel concept for one blessed with world-class hand/eye coordination, a physique bodybuilders envy and a competitive ruthlessness that makes Ty Cobb look like a pissy synchronized swimmer. If he focuses his obsessive and controlling nature into something that will assist in his keeping himself in good physical condition and that benefits his life without the sleep deprivation, violence and danger associated with his current moonlighting gig, Bruce Wayne would still be able to indulge his nature and enjoy his golden years thoroughly. It seems that in the long run, it just doesn’t pay to have super-powers, unless one is a workaholic.
