Donatella Neewun, email

AT HIS request, each morning three-year-old Johnny’s mother pinned a bath towel to the back shoulders of his T-shirt. In his young, imaginative mind, this was no towel – it was a magic blue and red cape. He was Superman.

Outfitted each day in his ‘cape’, Johnny’s days were packed with adventure and daring escapades.

After all, he was Superman.

Eventually the time came for Johnny’s mother to enrol him in kindergarten. During the course of the interview, the teacher asked Johnny his name.

“Superman,” Johnny answered, politely and without pause.

The teacher smiled, cast a knowing glance at his mother, and asked again: “Your real name, please.”

“Superman,” Johnny insisted.

Realising the situation demanded more authority, the teacher made her voice quite stern and said: “I demand to have your real name for the records.”

Johnny sensed that he’d have come clean. He leaned in close to the teacher and whispered: “Clark Kent.”