Back in the day, I knew of only two vocations where men shaved their legs: pro cycling, and body building. I was neither. And only two vocations: what was I thinking? I didn’t get out much back then, either.

It was swimming, not cycling, that convinced me to shave down. My coach at the time – Jake – lived in Edmonton. He was preparing me for my first Ironman triathlon. Jake arranged for a filmed swim session with the University of Alberta’s Varsity swim coach. Jake instructed me to shave down my arms and legs in order to enhance my feel for the water, and I bought it. He insisted I paint my fingernails and toenails red so the extremes of my swim stroke could be picked up and tracked on film. I bought that one, too.

It was awkward in the men’s change room, for everyone. Jake grabbed my swim bag and disappeared through the exit. Moments later, sporting a speedo, red nail polish and my ghost-white complexion, I followed through the one-way-only exit. No Jake and no pool anywhere in sight. Humiliated, I slithered my way out of the building, onto the street and back through the school’s front entrance in search of the pool. That was the longest 20 minutes of my life. Jake: 1 – Tony: 0.

Around the same time, renowned film director Tim Burton had released the first of many Batman movies, and our house turned into a Batman theme-park. My son became Batman: he had Batman pajamas, Bat-backpack, and Bat-underwear. Damn, he wore his Bat-suit everywhere. Our basement was the Bat Cave with all the action figures. He even had a Bat-shaving kit: Bat-shave cream and a Bat-razor. One morning, while getting ready for daycare, my boy called out: “Hey Dad, I’m shaving just like you!” He had his foot perched up on his Bat-potty trainer, leg lathered from ass to ankle. He worked his tiny Bat-razor up and down his leg. Just like Dad.

In those days I was working in the Canadian Forces as a weapons and tactics officer on the CF18 Fighter Weapons Course, Canada’s version of Top Gun. During the course we routinely hosted fighters and combat support aircraft from the US to act as “live targets” for our advanced air-to-air combat training. Seated on our Squadron’s ramp was one of the invited aircraft. An F86 Sabre jet with the iconic BATMAN logo painted on its tail loomed a mere 50 feet from the squadron’s parking lot. I picked up my boy from daycare on Base and decided to swing by the flight line, just to see his reaction to our visitor. He was fumbling with one of his Bat figures and not paying much attention to what sat out in front of our van. Then it happened – my boy looked up. He blinked, gazed at me, looked back at the Bat-jet and beamed with joy. His face said it all: Batman works with Ironman. Pleased with ourselves, we drove home and shaved our legs.