My son Arthur is four years old. He loves superheroes. His current favourite is Spiderman. A while ago it was Batman. He is the proud owner of various action figures representing those heroes, some important helpers (such as Robin), and their eternal enemies, commonly known under their generic name as “baddies”. He can play with them for hours on end, enacting stories that he has made up. He also enjoys wearing a superhero costume (with bulging muscles, which is very important for him) and pretending to be one himself and thus to be able to climb walls, make giant leaps from one tall building to the next (usually represented by different corners of the sofa), run with superhuman speed so that nobody can catch him, and beat up baddies (mostly me) with his superstrong fists. When he thinks of having superhuman powers, he does not think of being supersmart, supergood, super-controlled or immortal. He thinks of being a lot stronger than he currently is, and a lot stronger than anyone else he knows. His daydreams are about having physical powers that would allow him to overcome every obstacle put in his way, to do everything he wills, and to no longer feel small and dependent.