I'm used to getting my fair share of derision when I admit in public that Superman is still one of my favorite superheroes. Practically everyone goes through a Superman phase when they're growing up; kids are usually attracted to the hero's nigh-unbeatable powers and the easy, black-and-white clarity of his do-gooder persona. As superhero fans get older, though, they tend to gravitate to other, more nuanced superheroes that aren't so, well, square. These days, more people seem to find themselves relating more to Batman's tortured past, Iron Man's sardonic, devil-may-care attitude, or the over-the-top violence and winking meta-references of the heroes in Kick Ass.

I get it. Compared to other superheroes, Superman can come off as kind of boring. He's so powerful that the foes he fights are usually either ridiculously overpowered or have to twist themselves into convoluted plot knots just to have a chance against him. His primary weakness, a bit of glowing green rock from his exploded home planet, acts too often as a "get out of jail free" card for writers looking for an easy loophole.

But the trait that most gets in the way of telling a good Superman story is often his extreme boy scout image. How are you supposed to create interesting conflict when your hero is, by definition, the embodiment of truth, justice, and the American way? In these days of extreme moral ambiguity in popular fiction, Superman's righteousness seems downright outdated, which is somewhat understandable today, 75 years to the day since Superman made his premiere in Action Comics #1.

I went through my own Superman phase growing up; I spent hours poring through an old hardback collection of classic Superman stories with a kind of awed reverence, and I learned all I could about the arcana behind the character. The whole "Death of Superman" story arc in the early '90s was perfectly timed to kick my Superman interest into overdrive just as I was entering my pre-teen years. I devoured the whole "death and rebirth" saga, drawn in by the idea of something powerful enough to actually beat Superman and intrigued by the mysterious imposters that rose to take his place in the "World Without a Superman" arc.

You don’t tug on Superman’s cape

While the whole death of Superman storyline was in a way a high point for American comics (DC shipped over 2.5 million copies of Superman (Vol. 2) #75, where he actually dies), it also kind of blunted the potential impact of any future Superman stories. Where is a narrative supposed to go after its main character has already been killed and has come back to life without much of a hitch? What are they going to do—kill him again? Bring the murderous Doomsday back for yet another climactic fight? (Actually, the answer to that last question is yes: Doomsday has returned roughly half a dozen times since Superman "killed" him in his "final" battle).

This background mostly explains why my interest in Superman waned quickly after the whole rebirth storyline was done. I followed the Superman continuity half-heartedly for a while, but I reached my limit with the ridiculous Superman Red/Superman Blue saga, which turned the Last Son of Krypton into some sort of ridiculous, split-personailty energy being.

Yet I still harbor a soft spot for the Man of Steel, and still think there are plenty of compelling stories to be told about him. These tend to come not from the "main" continuity of monthly Superman books but in one-off side stories that aren't afraid to play with Superman's iconic, symbolic role.

The first comic I came across that really opened my eyes to Superman's unique role was Kingdom Come, the four-part series by Mark Waid and Alex Ross. In a future populated by a dizzying array of superhumans (both familiar and newly created just for Kingdom Come), Superman is given a central role as the most powerful being on the planet. When he goes into a self-imposed exile in the face of a new no-holds-barred breed of murderous superhero, the entire world feels the absence profoundly and disastrously. When he's convinced to come back, an entire generation of superheroes quickly falls in line behind him, partly because of his unequaled power, and partly because of what he represents as a potential savior for a world that has gone off the rails. No other character in comics could serve that kind of role so perfectly.

But Kingdom Come also does a good job of showing the inherent limits of Superman's powers, especially when it comes to political and interpersonal relationships. His initial outreach attempt to work with humanity through the United Nations is an abject failure brought about by super-hubris. His totalitarian efforts to rehabilitate uncooperative superheroes in a Gulag causes more problems than it solves. His deep-seated and unresolved rage issues even threaten to bring the entire world down around him at one climactic point.

At its core, Kingdom Come is a story about what happens when Superman comes across a problem that he can't solve just by punching it. Indeed, many of the best Superman stories are those that examine the limits of Superman's abilities to solve endemic cultural and social issues. The one-shot Superman: Peace on Earth shows how not even the most powerful superhero in the world can easily solve world hunger. All-Star Superman examines how a nearly invincible being deals with the knowledge of his own impending death. Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns recasts Superman as a helpless government lackey, ill-equipped to fight a corrupt system bent on enslaving the world (and him). Whatever Happened To The Man Of Tomorrow memorably shows Superman crying into his hands as his world crumbles around him in an unsettling manner that only Alan Moore could pull off.

Then there are the stories that reimagine the universal Superman myth in unique and interesting ways. The Red Son series imagines Superman's Kryptonian escape vessel landing is the Soviet Union rather than Smallville, Kansas and shows how his sense of justice would develop totally differently under communism. Without giving too much away about the excellent ending, I only cite the story as a great example of how Superman's selflessness can go well beyond just throwing himself in front of bullets on occasion.

But my favorite Superman story might just be Secret Identity. In this four-part series, Kurt Busiek expertly examines what would happen if a normal child (somewhat ironically named Clark Kent) somehow developed Superman's powers in the real world, where Superman is already a well-known comic book hero and archetype. The books serve as a great examination of the "man" part of the Superman story, and the conflict inherent in trying to balance a normal family life and career with a hidden role as a superhero.

These kinds of stories show why Superman continues to endure as an idea 75 years after he practically created the modern superhero. He's the ultimate symbol of what it means to be a superhero, and as a symbol, can readily serve good writers that are willing to play with his instantly understandable role in unique ways. Hollywood hasn't quite cottoned on to this potential yet as it has with other superheroes of late, but it definitely could.

The best Superman stories are the ones that highlight his essential contradictions as a man of two worlds, a near-omnipotent being that still can't solve every problem, and a reluctant leader that has power constantly thrust upon him. When good writers play with the Superman mythos in this way, he really is Earth's greatest superhero.