The Art of Dying

No one starts out to be superhero.

But there's my cousin--mask and costume--and I'm convinced she's certifiably insane.

Beth hit it big in Hollywood and created a baseball team so I could play. She started taking martial art lessons and she decided she was going to start ninja'ing around New York City. And that had nothing to do with us losing our mothers and her brother when we were young.

See? Insane. I mean, who the hell wants to be a moving target?

Well, I'm not really one to judge. After all, I took those lessons too. I was out there with her: hiding in shadows, avenging the less fortunate, saving the damsels in distress--and bachelors in a bind--getting shot at, threatened with death, chased with swords and tossed into situations we had no business being in.

We kinda liked it. I guess we were both nuts.

But no one starts out to be a superhero. No one wants to be the last of a breed of ninjas.

And, no one really wants to learn the art of dying.