Catch Me If You Can... Hunt Me If You Dare!

I grew up loving superheroes. The majority of my childhood was spent wanting to be a costumed defender of justice. American superheroes invaded my life since my visit to Florida in 1980. After that I consumed whatever comic-book I could get my hands on, eventually settling on a primary love of DC's Batman and Marvel's Spider-Man. Very mainstream, I know, but I guess that is just because both have a lot to say about the human condition. Nevertheless, there were other deviations and fascinations along the way. One muse I discovered when I was six years old came in the form of "The Leopard from Lime Street". The titular character was sometimes referred to as "Leopard Boy", probably due to his age, and occasionally as The Beast of Selbridge, which is probably a take on the Alien Big Cat urban myths that prevail around the English countryside. However, I mainly knew him as the Leopard Man. The character's origin was a blatant imitation of the Spider-Man story and some of his gadgetry, most notably his clawed leopard line, resembled items from Batman's utility belt arsenal, but he had many unique qualities too. So, a somewhat unbalanced merger of my two all-time favourite comic-book superheroes contained in the form of a relatable English school boy. Was it any wonder that it caught my imagination? 

The Lust for Failure? 2007

"Losing: it’s like winning, but with more experience."
- Anon
2013 Introduction
Below is an article I wrote back in 2007 long before I started making a deeper study into the nature of failure and mistakes. That particular journey moved me more into scepticism and critical thinking, as well as a willingness to embrace the benefits of accepting personal errors. Since writing this piece I read the brilliant "Mistakes were Made (but not by me)" by Carol Tavris and the equally entertaining "Being Wrong: Adventures in the Margins of Error" by Katherine Schulz.

I have never been a natural and have always had a passion for teaching. I think the disadvantages you face in not learning things easily enrich your ability to teach. It often amuses me when I hear people who put themselves over as great teachers and yet seem to have an inability to admit being flawed in anyway. They often won't even admit to making mistakes in the past. Such people seem to take on a religious view of their teaching ability, emulating some sort of Christ figure who is perfect in every way and revered by his discipiles as being the greatest of teachers. Personally I take the rather more mortal outlook that comes from works like Stephen Briers "Superpowers for Parents" and the aforementioned works by Tavris and Schulz that a teacher who shows they are faillible and even exhibits his mistakes and flaws is much more effective than those who easily gained skills or refuse to admit being wrong.