Not in Anybody’s Shadow: Memoirs of Dick Grayson (AKA Robin, AKA The Boy Wonder)

Chapter One: Nobody’s Shadow

Let me set the record straight. I have never dwelled in anybody’s shadow, especially not Batman’s. In all my years as a superhero, I have always been my own person. I did not become Batman’s sidekick because I was insecure or had some sort of deficit. I was his sidekick because I chose to be.

You see, Bruce Wayne saved my life, and though he never asked for any compensation, I wanted to do something for him. After I witnessed the brutal death of my parents as a kid, I became an orphan, full of rage with PTSD. Batman took me in when nobody else would. He became my family, gave me a place to live, an identity—and believe me, it wasn’t too shabby living in a mansion with a billionaire. I had a lot of cool gadgets and a sweet car.

Most people don’t know this, but my role as Batman’s sidekick was twofold: fighting crime and making sure Bruce was not swallowed up by the darkness that threatened to consume him. As his adopted son and one half of the dynamic duo, I was the only person that could keep him from committing atrocities. His voice of reason, if you will. I can’t tell you how many times I asked him to see a therapist, but the stubborn jackass just wouldn’t do it. But I did. I worked out my issues. I became not just a crime fighter, but a husband and a father, and I lived a very fulfilling life.

That’s why when I read the poem written about me by that hack of a writer named Peggy Gerber, I just knew I had to respond. This is what she wrote:

Holly Cannoli Batman, it’s my Time to Shine

Always the sidekick,

Never the hero

Robin dwelled in

Batman’s shadow

Knowing he would always

Be second best

Stuck in the passenger seat, never

taking the wheel of his own life

Nobody wants to be Robin

for Halloween

First of all, Ms. Gerber, I haven’t said “holy cannoli” since the nineteen sixties. Do your research. Second of all, when I took my grandsons trick-or-treating this October, I counted five different people dressed up as me for Halloween. Granted, it was the dads wearing my outfit while their sons were dressed as Batman, but one could argue that Robin was the much more important role. Those Batmans would be nothing without their Robins. Some of the Batmans weren’t even old enough to cross the street by themselves.

Thus, Ms. Gerber, if you think I never took the wheel of my own life, you are completely wrong. In fact, I am more beloved and more famous than you’ll ever be. At eighty years old, paparazzi still wait by my front door each morning.

So, Ms. Gerber, if I haven’t made it clear, your poem stinks, but I do thank you for inciting me to write this memoir.

Chapter Two: The Beginning