My father was once Superman. Now, he is an old, frail failure with regret and shame in his eyes.

I only pray the Aiden doesn't one day see me this same way! But alas, he will, right? What determines a person's worth in another's eyes? Is it their physicality? Is it their wisdom? Is it a combination of the two, and perhaps more?

I wager that it's based upon a perceived notion about one's strengths and weaknesses (both for better and worse) and the shattering of that perception upon actually meeting them. Maybe we're all creating heroes in our mind where there are only flawed humans trying to fit the bill. Perhaps it's our fault. Perhaps it's the fault of our broken fathers and mothers, friends and acquaintances. The broken promises of grandeur that they leave in our wake, or our foolishness to feed into those promises only to be left broken… Again.

Maybe, just maybe we all wear painted masks in agreement. What if we're all working together to create something of a Sistine Chapel out of this life's experiences, in fact, they're actually more of a Picasso. It may lack the form we do desperately desire for it to take, but it still has form and meaning nonetheless. Form indeed, although form we must learn to interpret and decipher as we travel along this life's monorails.