I’d like to introduce myself. My name is Tommy. If you’ve never heard of me before, that’s to be expected. There isn’t really a lot to my name yet, except for the fact that my father is Batman.

I know. I know what you’re probably thinking. “Batman? Why the heck does this kid think his father is Batman?”
Well, I’ll tell you. It’s because I really don’t know who my father is otherwise, so it’s completely possible that he could be Batman, isn’t it?

Mom says that she isn’t too sure, but she thinks that my Daddy might be a sailor named Steve. She said that it was a late night, and she was kind of drunk, and that it was Steve’s birthday so that she decided to give him a present before he shipped out. Steve had blue eyes and a mustache, Mom says, but that’s really all that she can remember.

Well, I don’t buy Mom’s explanation of my Dad! Steve? Come on! Anybody can have a Dad named Steve who’s a sailor. But me? No, I was meant for better things, I’m sure of it.

I told Mom of my theory once, that Batman is my real father. She kind of smiled and said, “well, you never know.” I thought that I could see a little tear in her eye when she said it, too, so that’s proof; tears of happiness that her son is so smart, just like Batman.

I’m hoping to meet Batman someday, so that maybe he’ll take me away from this studio apartment and let me be his sidekick, like a junior Robin or something. I even made my own Batsignal. I glued a construction paper cut-out of a bat over the end of my Cub Scout flashlight. Sometimes, when it’s really dark outside and Mom’s asleep in bed, I’ll sit beside the window and shine the flashlight out into the night sky. It isn’t as bright as the real Batsignal, but I keep hoping that Batman—Dad—will see it when he’s fighting crime one night, and he’ll come to investigate. He’ll open the window, and he’ll say in a deep, gravely voice, “son! I was wondering what had happened to you!” And then he’ll pick me up, and we’ll fly away on his Batwings.
Daddy hasn’t seen my Batsignal yet. But I keep hoping.

I’ve tried to get Batman to find me a few times. Once, I set up my model train in my bedroom, and tied my April O’Neal action figure to the train tracks. But I guess Batman wasn’t fooled, because he didn’t come. A week later, I decided that it hadn’t been real enough.

So I went down to the basement of the apartment complex with my Garfield alarm clock, some string, and some masking tape, and I tied myself to a wooden chair down there. I set the clock to go off in fifteen minutes, and then I struggled and screamed before the pretend bomb went off. But Batman didn’t show up before the alarm went off, and when Mom found me, she tore my behind a new one. I guess that Batman knew that it was just a trick, otherwise he would have shown up with a Batarang to cut the ropes and swing me out just seconds before the bomb went off.

It’s OK, though. I know that Batman is out there, and that he’s watching over me. I look out for Batman everywhere I go, in case he shows up unexpectedly. I’m ready to leave at any time; I carry my yellow backpack with me everywhere, and it’s got my Michelangelo action figure, and my flashlight, and some dried apricots, and my Batarang that I made out of a paper towel tube. You always have to be ready. I even take the backpack with me to the WIC office, because Batman could even be there.

Mom gets upset at me sometimes, though, when I talk about Batman too much. We have a rule that I can’t talk about Dad at the dinner table, because when I do Mom gets this funny look in her eye and she stares off into the distance, and her mouth kind of quivers weird. I guess she misses Batman.

I started writing letters to Batman, asking him if he can come home sometime. I don’t even care if he stays or not, but it would be nice if he’d just come to visit or maybe even send me a present for my birthday. Last year I got a Lego set and a new pair of shoes, but we didn’t have enough money for a birthday party. I guess that’s OK, because I didn’t know where to send Batman’s invitation anyway.

I tell other people about my ideas sometime. Like this one time, my school hosted a “Big Brothers/Big Sisters” lunch thing and I got paired with Bruce Wayne. It was a pretty cool lunch, because all the Big Brothers brought along a gift, and Bruce Wayne gave me a PSP. I told Mr. Wayne that it was really cool, but that I knew something even cooler: that Batman is my Dad. Mr. Wayne got this funny look in his eyes, like he was kind of scared for a minute, and then he looked out the window for a long time without saying anything. At the end of lunch, Mr. Wayne smiled and said that he was sure that Batman was watching out for me. I ran home that night and stayed up until nearly midnight shining my flashlight into the night sky, but I didn’t see Batman, so if Mr. Wayne was right then Batman must have been hiding.

Why don’t you love me, Batman, the way that I love you? Why don’t you come home to me and Mommy? The bully at school, Billy, says you’re not my real father. He says that Spider-Man is, but I know that’s not true because Spider-Man sucks.

I’m still waiting, Batdaddy. I’m waiting for you to remember me. Look to the night sky.

Love,
Tommy