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In 1960, when I was five years old, my father, an Air Force officer, was stationed in Fontainebleau, France. He was assigned to the Supreme Headquarters Allied Powers Europe (SHAPE). We lived in an old three-story home in a remote area called Bella Woods. With few modern amenities in the house and no television, I grew up devouring American comic books: Batman, Spider-Man, the Fantastic Four, the X-Men, the Hulk, Thor, and Aquaman. But there was one hero who really captured my imagination. He was all-American. His costume was red, white, and blue. He hailed from a small town in Kansas and he had amazing powers. Faster than a speeding bullet, able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, he was always rescuing women, children, and men in distress. He was the champion of the helpless and oppressed. During the war, my hero fought the Nazis, the Fascists, the Imperial warlords, and the fifth columnists. Partnering with American soldiers and sailors, he ventured forth in a gigantic battle for the future of Democracy, and he won. He was Action Comics Man of Steel, Superman!

I so wanted to be like Superman. There was not a towel in the house that at one point wasnt a cape. I would jump from chairs, couches, tables, anything to emulate my hero. Someday when the world was in trouble again, I knew that Superman would come to the rescue. Maybe he and I could team up. Batman had Robin; why couldnt Superman have a sidekick?

In 1963, my father received orders back to the States. My family and I traveled to Calais, France, boarded the ocean liner SS United States, and after a four-day trip pulled portside in New York City. No sooner had we checked in to the hotel than I turned on the television. There in amazing black and white was my hero, leaping from building to building, bullets bouncing off him, saving Lois Laneand all this was happening in the city of Metropolis. Metropolis, New York City. I was here in Metropolis. If I was here, then maybe, just maybe, Superman was here as well.

Over the course of the next few days, my father and I explored the city. We went everywherethe Empire State Building, the Worlds Fair, Times Square. But as we ventured through the canyons of skyscrapers I was constantly looking upward, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Man of Steel. My father would stop occasionally and ask me if everything was all right. Sure, sure, everythings fine. I mean, I was eight years old, way too old to really believe in Superman. In my mind, I knew he was just a comic book character, but in my heart, oh in my heart, I truly hoped that he was real. Because, if Superman was real, then he could solve all of the worlds problems. Nothing was too difficult for Superman. The Nazis couldnt stop him. Aliens couldnt hurt him. No criminal was too smart to outwit my hero.

Finally, my father stopped me and asked, Bill, whats wrong? I was embarrassed to tell him, but after some fatherly prodding, I finally said, Well, New York City is Metropolis and I I hesitated. I was hoping to see Superman. Dad smiled, put his arm around me, pointed to a New York police officer, and said, Son, thats the man that protects New York City.

If you can have an epiphany at eight years old, well then, this was mine. If Superman wasnt real, then who was going to save the world? If Superman or Batman or Spider-Man werent coming, then how would we stop the criminals, the Nazis, the Soviets, the aliens from outer space, and all the violence and destruction? The answer was clear. It was up to us.

Over time I became fixated on real-world heroes: astronauts striving to reach the moon, doctors creating vaccines to save millions: Civic leaders marching for the rights of the underrepresented. Political leaders forming new governments where the people had a voice. Decorated soldiers returning from Korea and then Vietnam. Sports figures who transcended the color barrier. Adventurers who were climbing higher, diving deeper, sailing farther, and exploring the unknown. Visionaries who were trying to clean the air, save the oceans, and protect the fragile ecosystems. I marveled at each of these remarkable men and women, but in the back of my mind, I knew that I was nothing like them. They were smarter, stronger, braver. They had all the attributes I lacked. They had superpowers that I just didnt possess. Thats why they were heroes, and thats why they were the only people who could save the world.

But I was wrong.

In 1977, I graduated from the University of Texas at Austin and joined the Navy SEALs. Over the course of the next thirty-seven years, I traveled the world. I saw the worst of humanity: war and destruction, disease and poverty, cruelty and indifference. The world was full of problems, seemingly intractable, unsolvable, impossible problems! But also in those thirty-seven years I saw the very best of mankind. Men and women who sought peace, who rebuilt nations, who cured disease and lifted the poor from poverty. Men and women whose compassion was so deep that it made the cruelty and indifference of others pale in comparison; men and women who were from all walks of life, from every socioeconomic background, from every race, every creed, and every gender and orientation.