When you're young you believe your dad is invincible, and then one day you realize he's human, and then comes the truly horrible period where you wonder if he's your dad at all because he's hopelessly unhip, and then you arrive at the stretch where you finally get to know your father as an adult, which is by far the best part.

After that (usually a lot of years after that) you realize that living through a great depression and surviving front line combat in a terrible war -- and then slipping into harness and doing the supremely hard work of feeding and raising a family (and making sure there's enough for everyone to go to college) means – cape or not – your dad actually did have super powers, and not the flashy comic book kind, but the badass real life variety (though if it ever came down to a contest, he'd kick Superman's ass every damn time).

Of course, even Superman had a weakness, and my father's was his heart, and it finally gave out, and he passed away this morning.

When the call comes, you sit down right where you are to a jarring mix of emotions, and you don't know whether to simply stop breathing and melt into the ground or stand up and shake your fist at the sky, though the sense of someone kicking out a corner of the foundation you've built your life on prevents you from doing either.

You know you'll eventually find some perspective on all this, but at the moment, you realize you can no longer feel the phone against your face.

Rest in peace, Superman. Know that your sons finally came to understand what you were and what you did, and that we loved you for it.

William Chandler, 1931-2008