In my closet is a box of old comics, and I love every one of them. My dad was a huge comic book fan and, in turn, he made fans out of all seven of his children.

I was looking for a book to read when I spotted Brad Meltzer’s “The Book of Lies” on the library shelf. I was immediately intrigued as the novel dealt with Jerry Siegel, the creator of one of the most well-known comic book heroes of all time, Superman.

Meltzer weaves the Siegel’s story and Superman into a murder mystery, and his recounting of Siegel’s childhood and the early days of Superman are fascinating.

While researching his novel, Meltzer visited Siegel’s childhood home near Cleveland, the place where the young teenager dreamed up a super man who could leap over tall buildings with a single bound and was more powerful than a locomotive.

The house was in deplorable condition. The ceiling was caving in, the floor had decayed and the walls were missing huge chunks of plaster. Three years ago, it seemed the birthplace of Superman was in danger of becoming like Superman’s home planet of Krypton — a distant memory.

The city didn’t have the funds to restore the house, but Meltzer, a former comic book artist as well as author, said he believed regular, ordinary people could save the house.

He contacted the Siegel and Shuster Foundation and fellow comic book artists, and everyone agreed to work together to save the house.

The artists donated original art work, Superman fans bought T-shirts the artists designed, and all the money went to the foundation.

More importantly, Meltzer asked ordinary people to consider sending in one dollar, just one dollar, to save Superman’s house.

Within a few months, the foundation had received over $110,000, enough to completely renovate Siegel’s childhood home.

Today, the house, at 10622 Kimberly Ave. in Glenwood, Ohio, is in beautiful condition, and the owners graciously allow people to tour the renovated house.

Meltzer’s positive experience with the Siegel home propelled him to establish the Ordinary People Can Change The World Website. He invited people to write in about how they’re positively changing the world, and their words are inspiring.

They became Superman in their own neighborhoods, and we can do the same. We don’t need Superman’s X-ray vision to look inside the walls of schools and see libraries in need of painting and refurbishing.

It doesn’t require Superman’s super-human strength help an elderly couple clean up their yard. Nor does it require the ability to fly to run an errand for an ill friend.

It takes ordinary people like you and me.

Meltzer believes the real story of Superman isn’t the invincible Man of Steel character. The true hero is Daily Planet reporter Clark Kent, Superman’s timid alter ego, because, as Meltzer stated, inside, we’re all Clark Kent.

We’re the quiet artists drawing on the back of napkins and old sheets of paper because we don’t believe we’re good enough to show our work. We’re the ones writing in private journals at night, reluctant to share our thoughts and words because we think others are more talented.

But behind our secret identities, we ordinary folks are the ones that can truly change the world.

Ordinary people feed the hungry, collect clothing for the needy and volunteer their time. They’re making a positive change right here in Fort Bend County.

We’re all challenged to step out from behind our secret identities and, maybe not leap over a tall building with a single bound, but reach out a hand to someone in need.

Because, as Meltzer says, ordinary people can indeed change the world.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

Over the past few months, politicians have proposed numerous plans to address the shortfall in federal and state budgets. Texas is facing a $15 billion revenue shortfall, and Gov. Rick Perry proposes cutting $5 billion — one third of this shortfall — in education.

One of the first places politicians begin slicing and dicing is the education budget. I seldom see them talk seriously about reducing their salaries or staffs.

Let me be honest right up front — I’m a school teacher, so I have a vested interest in paying close attention to cuts in education. But I bring to the classroom 20 years in the business world where I was the one complaining about waste in government spending.

So when I read about budget cuts, I’m trying to look at the ledger sheet from both sides of the political fence. Cuts Perry is proposing are in the arts, pre-kindergarten programs and financial aid for incoming freshmen.

That would mean cutting back funding for our budding artists, poets and musicians, youngsters who have no voice in the adult world and young men and women looking to find a way to contribute to society.

Hidden in that gargantuan proposed budget, which I actually looked through, employees in Perry’s office goes from an average of 120 to 132. Why does one governor need more employees than a high school has teachers for over 1,500 students?

Perhaps it’s because governors can rationalize overseeing a bloated budget they control. So they point their fingers and say there’s waste in the public schools. I’ll admit that’s a valid claim as almost all of us could tighten our financial belts.

But if Texas wants to be number one in education, the state cannot accomplish that goal by hog-tying teachers and sacrificing youngsters.

One of the cries I’ve heard over the years is that school should be all about academics. The fine arts, activities like band, choir, art and theater, are better left outside the classroom.

The fine arts, however, allow youngsters to find their hidden talents. The child who has trouble reading in school might excel in art, find a receptacle to plug into the educational process and, in turn, become excited about life.

The student who excels in math and science might find they love debate and, thus, hone their interpersonal skills.

The fine arts classes that round out the human psyche are just as important as math and science. Yet these same classes that add the ability to think deeply about subjects and to find what lights the creative fire in one’s soul are the first ones slapped on the chopping block.

Forgive me for not being a statistician, but I fail to see the good that comes from limiting a child’s imagination.

The second sacrificial lamb is the number of students per classroom. The number one indicator of student success is the ratio of teacher to student, yet the first thing politicians feel they need to do is increase the teacher-to-student radio in the classroom.

When 35 fourth graders are clamoring for the teacher’s attention, it’s extremely difficult to spot the children who are too timid to ask for help. As a result, they silently slide through the crowded system and become quietly disinterested in school.

In turn, they become disinterested adults instead of motivated people who understand a good education requires the support of everyone — parents, the community, the state and the federal government.

We are sacrificing the future of our country because people are not willing to put up the funds or make cuts in the governor’s office to ensure our children are receiving a well-rounded education. The old cliché that children are our best hope for the future remains true.

Instead of being the wind underneath their wings, the government is greedily plucking the feathers out of those wings one by one, dollar by dollar and never looking at the plump nest they’re built for themselves up in Austin.

An investment in a child’s mind is our best investment for the future. It’s time to stop robbing youngsters and give them what they deserve: a well-rounded and well-funded education.
 
This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

I watched the 2011 Super Bowl for one reason — the commercials. This year, I didn’t know anything about either team, but if the game dragged, the commercials would more than make up for the lackluster action on the field.

When I first tuned in, I saw Terry Bradshaw behind the announcer’s desk. A little heftier but still an “aw-shucks” fella, Bradshaw reminded me of those football glory days back in the 1970s when the Pittsburgh Steelers and “Mean” Joe Green and Lynn Swann ruled the field.

I remembered watching the 1970’s commercial featuring Green as a limping, tired player and a young, tentative boy who hands him a Coke to drink. That sentimental ad made me a TV commercial fan, and I especially love the ones from my teen days.

One of the best is Coke’s “I’d like to teach the world to sing.” Watching those idealistic young faces is still inspiring, even if it’s just a ploy to motivate consumers to purchase carbonated beverages.

The old Alka Seltzer commercials remain wonderful, especially the “that’s some meatball” ad where the guy finally gets the script right on the last take only to have the oven door pop open.

Alka Seltzer also produced the “I Can’t Believe I Ate That Whole Thing” commercial and the ad where the husband tries to sneak some Alka Seltzer to cope with his wife’s impossible-to-digest dumpling.

Some commercials are revolutionary in that they either introduce a new product or take commercials to a new level of creativity. The commercial that accomplished both is one from 1984 with a woman running with a sledgehammer through a gray, robotic future.

Like everyone, I was blown away by the creativity shown when introducing a new computer, the Apple Macintosh, to the world.

With the availability of YouTube, viewers can take a stroll down memory lane and watch their favorite commercials from the 1950s all the way to the present day. Number one on my YouTube commercial list is “Terry Tate: Office Linebacker” from the 2003 Super Bowl.

The pro linebacker is hired to increase productivity in an office, and what he does to slacker co-workers will have you rolling in the aisles, especially his treatment of the person who doesn’t refill the coffee pot.

Budweiser has fabulous commercials, and my favorites are the “Real Men of Genius” commercials. It’s impossible not to chuckle through Bud’s salute to “Mr. Pro Wrestler Wardrobe Designer” and “Mr. Really, Really, Really Bad Dancer.”

During the Super Bowl, Budweiser consistently comes up with creative ads, from their croaking frogs to the donkey wanting to be a on the Clydesdale team to this year’s old West salute to Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer.”

But my 2011 Super Bowl favorite, like 22 million other YouTube watchers, was the Darth Vader kid who tries to manipulate the washing machine, a doll and finally his father’s car using only the force inside himself. Luckily dad plays along, and the reaction from young Anakin is amazingly funny.

I suppose advertisers have to reach for the creative stars when most people have devices that can whiz past commercials with ease.

But by zipping past those ads, it’s possible to miss some funny and inspiring ads like Volkswagen’s “The Force” commercial.

There’s a little of the costumed kid inside all of us, just waiting for the chance to make magic, just as we’d love to give the world a Coke, have Terry Tate intimidate the person who leaves paper jams in the copier for you to fix and salute the Man of Genius who invented the taco salad.

Here’s to you, Mr. Super Bowl Funny Commercial Man and Woman.

Touchdown.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.

While waiting in a check-out line recently, I spotted a box filled with a familiar childhood treat — MoonPies. Although I was born in the north, I grew up in the South during my teen years. Those are the times when eating habits are formed.

Some are healthy and others not so healthy. But calories and trans fats aren’t tops on a kid’s list when it comes to snacks. Sugar’s the number one item with chocolate running a close second.

Enter the MoonPie. This treat showed up in 1917 when someone asked for a cookie treat as big as his hands cupped around the moon.

Add graham crackers and marshmallow cream to hold the crackers together, and then cover the whole thing with melted chocolate. Voila, you’ve got a MoonPie.

In the 1930’s, poor coal miners in the South could have a MoonPie and an RC-Cola for about a nickel, and MoonPies became an inexpensive Southern treat.

I can still remember washing down a MoonPie and a cola on a hot afternoon, and I can remember eating soft MoonPies in our Louisiana back yard, swapping scary stories with my friends.

My cousins up North also liked swapping scary stories with their friends, but they couldn’t imagine a MoonPie. They had subs and pop for a snack. They shopped at “Monkey Wards,” aka Montgomery Wards. We Southerners shopped at T.G.&Y.

The store was a forerunner to today’s Wal-Mart, and if the T.G.&.Y. didn’t carry what you wanted, you just didn’t need it.

Our T.G.&.Y’s was located next to the Piggly Wiggly, a Southern grocery store chain. There was also the Winn Dixie, but having a grocery store with a name that sounded like a barbecue was peculiar. However, that’s the way it was in a small Southern town.

But grocery shopping was for our moms. For kids, our favorite place to get something to eat was at the Tast-E-Freeze. Whether we stopped there after school or when out riding bikes, the Tast-E-Freeze was the local hang out.

For a buck, we could get a small bag of Fritoes to which the kid working the counter then added a ladle full of hot chili and then added grated cheese.

If you felt like splurging, you could wash that chili pie down with a chocolate malt or a Dr. Pepper with a cherry at the bottom.

When we moved to Texas, we discovered Dairy Queen. Small towns in central Texas might not have a McDonald’s or Burger King, but they’ve all got a DQ.

In 1938, a father and son decided to launch their soft frozen dairy product and see if people were interested. From the very beginning, the Dairy Queen was a success.

The first time I went to a DQ, I was amazed when the young girl behind the counter filled a cone with vanilla ice cream, turned it upside down and dipped it in melted chocolate without the ice cream falling off.

These dipped cones seemed magical and, needless to say, the combination of ice cream and chocolate had me from that moment on.

Now that we know the dangers of saturated fats, high levels of sodium and the pitfalls of empty calories, I have to pass up those fattening Southern desserts.

But on this one day, that MoonPie with the crescent moon on the cellophane wrapper was impossible to resist.

That first bite was gooey and just as messy as I remembered as a kid. I looked down at all the graham cracker crumbs on the front of my blouse and smiled.

Some treats from our childhood are worth the mess they create. And on a hot day, when the world stretches out before you, a lazy afternoon is best when savored with an RC Cola and a MoonPie.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.