I was eight. Pa was working the field, he’d been up since four. The tractor ran over this root, messed up the blade he was dragging. Pa’s not an angry man, but he doesn’t like anything going wrong in his field. He jumped down and kicked the root, cursed at it. Angriest I’d ever seen him. I wanted him to stop being upset, so I ran over there, grabbed the root. I yanked so hard it tore up about fifty feet of the field. I tossed a root that probably weighed a thousand pounds about three hundred yards. Then I looked at Pa. That’s when he knew I was different.
Superman (if I wrote Superman)