By Kelly Keene

I distinctly remember the first time I saw The Incredibles when it arrived at AMC theaters back in 2004. I walked into the movie with my mom and younger brother, ziplock bags of hot tamales stuffed deep in each of our coat pockets. When I walked out, everything had changed. From that point on I knew I was different. I was destined to become a superhero. 

Violet’s character had particularly fascinated me. I was also a moody teenage girl, and her parents annoyed her just like mine. Recently, I had taken to locking myself in the bathroom just so I could read Harry Potter by myself. My younger brother was blonde and irritating, and awkward boys at school juuuust started to be interesting.

I also loved that Violet had two superpowers. Invisibility would have been cool enough, but she could blast away danger with forcefield AND protect her family when her dad’s muscles and mom’s flexibility weren’t enough. Dam. She was awesome, and so was I. 

Although I first met Violet in 8th grade, superpowers were a common feature in my house growing up. We had done the whole Batman-themed family Halloween costumes, and fought with plastic lightsabers constantly. My dad even got excited when he discovered that a new neighbor of ours had played a minor role as a water-y villain in X-Men. But for me, Violet was the first superhero I remember believing I could actually, maybe, even someday be.

When I was 13, I knew enough to realize that super abilities might be a bit of a stretch, but imaginative enough not to give up on the dream all together. Had it not, afterall, only been a few years since I waited for my Hogwarts letter? (Sure the letter never came, but that didn’t dampen my belief that magic, and greatness were still out there.) I didn’t expect to get a really impressive power like super strength, or fire breath, but maybe if I worked hard at swim practice, I could develop some underwater skills. Or what about all the time I spent talking to my cat? Surely that could pan out to some sort of animal communications specialist. I understood that it would be a long shot. But the best superheros seemed to be the ones who believed the most, and had the guts to jump over the alleyway between tall buildings, so why couldn’t I?

Luckily, we didn’t have many tall buildings in my hometown, and the ones we did, did not let teenagers onto the tops of their roofs. But I learned to test my abilities in other ways. I honed my attentiveness by befriending the quietest kids in class. Super Strength, I developed by playing the heaviest instrument in marching band. I even stayed up late painting my nails or making playlists on iTunes so that my sleep schedule would be ready when I spent my evenings eventually fighting crime. 

This core belief that I could be super stayed with me past high school, through college, and still tingles in my fingertips and goosebumps today. Sure, I’m thirty now, and have to drive to work instead of flying. I have no combat skills, and stub my toes on furniture all the time. But, my car is Rocket Red, and I can parallel park like no other. When some people get scared of bees, I don’t. And sometimes, when no one else is looking, and the tupperware comes tumbling out of the cabinet, I stop every single mismatched lid from hitting the floor. 

My powers are less flashy, but I can relate to Violet’s double life too. There is Kelly at work, and the Kelly my friends and family know. She is kind, professional, responsible and fun. She is Ms. Keene to my students and has a decent credit score on file for anyone who might be interested. But at night, home alone, or in traffic, with the windows up, I am SUPER Kelly! 

Shadows moving in the dark have no idea how prepared I am to fight back. Babies in strollers don’t even realize how safe they are in my presence. The world might see an average brown haired  woman, but I know that when the light hits just right, my eyes can change color. And someday, when a dragon casts my town in shadow, I could be the one to ride it.