Not all heroes wear capes.
Some of them, in fact, wear a very nice dress and blazer combo that got positive reinforcement from colleagues at work, thank you very much.
In fact, that was the decidedly non-cape, non-heroic get up I was wearing when I saved the life of a toddler last night.
The odds were against me. I was wearing high-heeled boots. And a long dress. The light was dimming. And yet, my spidey-senses tingled.
Mostly because a mother and son were hurtling towards me on the street, screaming their lungs out.
I was walking to collect my own son from after school care, when I noticed the pair running in the opposite direction to me along the footpath. The mum was about 50 metres away, yelling, “Tim, stop, stop!”
Tim, a little cherub of about four years old, was too busy ignoring her to hear what she was saying.
As he sped toward me, I could see his little grin glinting in the twilight, and his fluorescent blonde hair streaking like The Flash, merely a metre away from a very busy intersection.
I knew Tim had to be stopped. He didn’t want to be stopped. And yet it had to be done. The person who gave him life was not succeeding in stopping him. So I had to woman-up to the challenge.
Because, Lord knows, I did not want to be any part of a Tim vs Traffic sandwich. I did not want that on my conscience.
So, as little Timmy (he was so cute, I have to call him that), bolted towards me, I stood in his path. Bemused at the interference, he looked up at me, his blue eyes full of indignant confusion.
“Statues!” I sang, referring the the game where kids stand still.
“You have to wait for your mummy.”
Because, you see, this was the thing. This wasn’t my child, so I didn’t think I should touch him in any way. He had stopped, so I didn’t need to.
As I stood basking in glow of my heroism, his mother caught up to us.
“Thank you!” she said.