Being Superman never prepared me for this.

I can stop a falling plane. I can hear a cry for help from miles away. I’ve fought gods, monsters, invaders. But nothing—nothing—makes me feel more unsure than fatherhood.

Three sons. Three very different boys.

Conner came first, in the strangest way imaginable. Created by Lex Luthor, made to be a weapon. But I saw more in him. I still do. I didn’t create him, not biologically. But I chose him. I brought him home. I loved him into something human. He’s quiet, guarded, sometimes lost in his own head, but always trying. Always carrying more than he lets on.

Jon came next. My son by blood. Powers showed up young—faster than mine ever did. He’s a burst of light, eager, bold, a little reckless. I’ve been spending hours training him, showing him what it means to carry the weight of this world. Trying to help him become the man he wants to be.

And then there’s Alex.

My youngest. No powers. No heat vision, no strength. Just a heart that never stops giving. He sees the world in color. In rhythm. In music. His passion is color guard—flags, choreography, emotion in motion. He’s been pouring his soul into it. Rehearsing late, perfecting every toss, every step. Tonight was the Spring Showcase. His final performance. The one that decides if he becomes captain next year.

Lois reminded me.

Again. And again.

But Jon asked to train. Conner decided to come along, something rare these days. It felt like a gift—time with the two of them, laughing, sparring midair, stopping for burgers, talking like there wasn’t a clock ticking in the background. I told myself I still had time.

When we got home, Jon was still buzzing. Conner had one of his small, rare smiles. And I walked in the door thinking, This was a good day.

And then I saw him.

Alex was at the table. Still in his uniform—gold and deep navy, with subtle sequins that used to sparkle when he spun beneath the lights. His flag leaned gently against the wall. His plate was full. Untouched.

He didn’t look up.

Lois didn’t need to say anything. She just looked at me. And in that look was every word I’d ignored.

A folded program sat beside Alex’s plate. Spring Showcase – Final Performance – 6:00 PM.

I missed it.

I didn’t need to ask how it went. I could see it in the slump of his shoulders, the red-rimmed eyes. He tried to wait for me. He kept scanning the crowd, believing I’d walk through those auditorium doors any second.

But I didn’t.

I was flying with his brothers, laughing in the sky, while my youngest stood under bright lights, giving it everything he had—with no one there to cheer him on.

Conner’s smile faded the moment he noticed. Jon looked confused at first, then guilty.

Me? I felt something tighten in my chest. Like the weight of the world was crashing down—not from above, but from within.

I’ve stood against the worst evils the galaxy has to offer. I’ve stared down death, destruction, extinction. But nothing—nothing—has ever made me feel so small.

Because tonight, I wasn’t Superman.

I was just a dad who broke a promise.

And my son—my brilliant, beautiful, fearless son—sat there in silence, too proud to ask, too hurt to speak.

And I missed it.

What kind of hero forgets to show up for the one who needed him most?