I’m Batman, basically. At least according to this onesie. I spend my day righting wrongs, fighting for the little guy, and brooding. Lots of brooding. Instead of a utility belt equipped with batarangs, smoke pellets, and military grade microcomputers, I have cargo pants full of fruit slices, kleenex, and hand sanitizer. My Justice League consists of the other parents in the neighborhood, except the guy who looks like Martian Manhunter, I won’t let our kids hang out. But any good comic fan knows that a superhero is nothing without a good set of villains, so I present to you, my gallery of rogues:

The Riddler

A mastermind of trickery and confusion. No one causes me more mental anguish than the children’s librarian. I willingly walk right into her trap every Tuesday. “Oh yes children, we’re going to sing the eight minute extended version of Thumbkin, complete with a Slash guitar solo*, but first we’re going to spend five minutes talking about each individual finger. Bwahahaha.” (*Seriously though, it’s amazing that Slash can find time to play at a toddler sing-a-long in the Boston suburbs.)

This lady plays One Song to the Tune of Another. For example, she sings the lyrics “Head, Shoulders, Knees, & Toes” to the beat of “London Bridge”. My hippie friend calls this “poly-rhythms, braj”, and then I ridicule him mercilessly for listening to Phish. I know it’s a minor change, but every week it gives me a nervous tic. And you can probably skip the “About the Author” section when reading a book with two dozen words in it. This 4’11” carbon copy of Clueless-era Brittany Murphy will never overpower me, but her head games may one day bring about my demise.

Ra’s al Ghul

The immortal head of the demon represents pure evil cloaked behind the message of greater good. Of course I’m talking about local government. Supported by the League of Assassins, aka meter maids “parking enforcement officers”, no one claims to do more for me while actively working against me. Who in city planning is responsible for allowing EIGHT Dunkin’ Donuts in a 13 square mile city, but denying every last one of them a drive-thru??

I’m not lazy, but it shouldn’t take twenty minutes for me to get my coffee. And yet, when the process involves unbuckling the boy from his car seat, holding his hand through the parking lot (despite his protests that he can walk by himself), waiting in line while counting the number of pre-bagged pounds of coffee beans on display, getting my order, then re-bribing him back into the car, twenty minutes is a good day. If the boy falls asleep in the car before I get to Dunkin’ then it’s a caffeine free morning for Bat-dad.

Long story short, approve the permits. And stop giving me parking tickets.

Harvey “Two-Face” Dent

So, there’s this cop that lives just outside my neighborhood. He brings his kids to the same playground I bring the Mayor. He’s a big hockey fan, so we talk about the Bruins and generally have a good rapport. But just like former Gotham City DA Harvey Dent, there’s another side to this guy that I witnessed this week.

On Wednesday, the playground was full of middle-schoolers. I’ve previously spoken about my disdain for them here. But for the most part, the worst thing they ever do is swear. My language was pretty colorful until the boy was born, so I can’t begrudge them too much for dropping the occasional f-bomb. This day they were doing gymnastics and tumbling on the playground. I missed the boat on that one. If gymnastics had been cool when I was that age I wouldn’t have had to go three towns over to work out, but I digress. The Mayor was running amok, as usual, and tripped over one of the girls (his shameless attempt to flirt). No one was hurt, the boy got up and ran off. Enter the man I’ve dubbed “The Heli-COP-ter Dad”

“THIS PARK ISN’T FOR YOU !@#$ING BRATS! IT’S FOR LITTLE KIDS, NOT !@#$ING TEENAGERS! GET YOUR $#!& AND GET THE !@#$ OUT OF HERE!”

When one of the kids pointed out the sign that said the equipment was for 5-12 year olds, and that he was 12, it took everything I had not to give the little smart-ass a high-five. I tried to calm the guy down, but instead of acting like an adult, he kept on with his tantrum that even my son thought was a bit over-dramatic. He ends up calling one of his buddies on patrol and has the kids thrown out of the park…for being kids. What kind of parent and/or police officer would rather have 12-14 year-olds roaming the city streets instead of at a park?

Thursday morning , the trash barrels at the park were overturned and the garbage was thrown all over the place. Thanks a lot, Harv. Try flipping your coin next time.

The Joker

That signature cackle, representative of pure chaos could only belong to one person. Without the Joker, there’s no Batman, and vice versa. There’s no rhyme or reason for anything he does, and you’re a fool if you think otherwise. When Jerry Robinson created the Joker in 1940, he must have had a toddler at home.

I should have known I was in trouble as soon as the Mayor turned one. For his birthday, one of his friends gave him a pair of Fisher Price Little People, one Batman, and one Joker. Batman has not been seen since that day, but the clown prince of crime disappears for weeks at a time, only to pop up in unexpected places. Over the past seven months, I’ve found him in a box of diapers, my shoe, the refrigerator, under my pillow, and in the shower.

No one causes me greater frustration in this world, while simultaneously giving me a sense of purpose. Without me, this tiny maniac would bring this city to its knees. I may be exaggerating, but not by much. He’ll always be there to cause havoc, and I’ll always be there to stop him. He’ll put a toy hockey stick through the wall, and I’ll patch it up with spackle. Sun rise, sun set.

In conclusion, watch this. And then go read The Long Halloween. I have crime to fight.