I remember him telling me stories why he chose the bat as his symbol. I remember pretending to understand. Truth is, I didn't. I was just a child at the time. I was not his equal. I was not him. I could not understand the pain he hid. I could not understand the pain he used to defeat his villians. I pretended to understand. How could I? How could I have known that is was a promise that drove him all these years. A promise to the deceased to avenge their souls.
I do not think the dead care about vengeance. I never thought my parents needed to be avenged. Or at least I pretended not to. Probably somewhere deep inside I did. Bruce was different. That night in Crime Alley, Bruce Wayne died and Batman was born. Alfred would always say that Bruce was more comfortable in the dark of the cave in his mask and cape than he was in the mansion.
Bruce was not one who would think was born into money. He hated to Wayne persona. He hated playing that role but he did some good things in that role. While to a few, he will always be known as the Dark Knight, to the world he will be known a billionaire who generously gave to the needy, who built housing for the homeless, who provided full scholarships to low income families at Gotham's best schools.
Batman fought against crazed criminals.
Bruce Wayne fought against a broken system.
Bruce may think the world will always need Batman. He may be right. But the world will never have another Bruce Wayne and that is the saddest crime of all.
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