I can tell that we are gonna be friends.

I knew this kid once who swaggered into a gymnastics class wearing a well-loved hoodie with a fading Batman image on the front but a hole in the back. His mama would carefully rummage consignment stores and choose according to adorableness but was quickly schooled as this kid's stylist. He choose according to his own whimsy and, though never the twain shall meet, she had to admire his vehement independence because she knew a little something about that herself.

Both these characters, confident in their own autonomy, each proceeded with their separate agendas.

"What's your name?" the teenaged girl playacting as coach asked the little boy as his mama beamed from the sidelines at her jumping, flipping, dancing boy.

"Bruce."
She, ever the believer, wanted to let that boy explore the possibilities.

"Hi, Bruce! What's your last name?"
In the end, who knows where this might lead?

And without hesitation, he replied,
"Wayne."

Ah.

Sometimes, he's a future gold medalist in a tattered hoodie that he refuses to give up because he's quirky like that.

Sometimes, he's just plain ol' Batman.

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