Superman, honey, our little Supey-Poo, your father and I have been talking and well… you’ve been putting a lot of time into that “saving the world” hobby of yours. Don’t get us wrong, it sounds very nice, but can we take a moment and think about your future? What we’re trying to say is, don’t you think it’s time to consider graduate school?

Don’t take this the wrong way, because we’ve always been extremely supportive. Like when you first told us you would only respond to Superman, we didn’t put up a fight. Even though it seemed like the name we picked out was no longer good enough for you. Clark is a beautiful name. And even though your father had such a hard time accepting the spandex and cape, I assured him it was just a phase.

Heck, we even acted like it was normal when you started shouting out, “This looks like a job for Superman.” But we need to say something, because calling everything “a job for Superman” is becoming a real problem.

You can argue with us all you want, but defending “truth, justice, and the American way” is not a job, no matter how “important” it is. You have to be hired for a job, and the good ones require a graduate degree. I love a good game of Canasta, and think my weekly game is important, but I don’t call that my job.

Honestly, I don’t even understand what it is you really do. Do you just wait around in the Batcave? Waiting for some sort of bat signal? Is that right? And then you fight “the Joker” or Danny DeVito or someone? It’s dangerous and it doesn’t even help pay the rent.

Aren’t you tired of people mistaking you for a bird or a plane? With just a bit of higher education, they could immediately recognize you as a local community leader. A master’s in a respectable field would do just that. Maybe business? Or economics? or perhaps even business?

But you know what there aren’t degrees in? Hobbies. There is no master’s program in “saving the world” or, as far as this family is concerned, journalism. We held our tongues when you told us you were going to be a journalism major, but we just can’t do it anymore. Our baby boy, who arrived in a spacecraft from another planet, with super-human abilities, wants to become a journalist? Everybody knows print media is dead. We’re willing to acknowledge your reporting job, but it’s no career. Plus, all you do is write articles about your other hobby, with titles like “Lives Saved,” “Atrocity Thwarted,” and “Crisis Averted.”

I’m not mentioning the grandkids thing again, but obviously that sort of narcissism isn’t attracting our future daughter-in-law. But about grandkids, you need to try and attract a woman to settle down with so we can get this show on the road. Take it from us, a happy farm couple from Kansas: women like predictability. No surprises, no crime fighting, and no journalism. Just the well-scheduled life of an MBA-carrying financial manager. You’re not going to attract a fine young lady the way you’re going.

And don’t you bring up that Lois Lane again. You know I don’t like her, with her liberal city attitudes.

Use that x-ray vision to look inside yourself and ask this one question: Is your life really headed towards success? Where’s the house in the suburbs? Where’s the wife and kids? Where’s the reliable 9-5?

You know the Jones’s son is your age. He’s a Senior Business Strategist and has been faithfully contributing to his 401k since grade school. You’ll always be our special little man and that’s evident from your laser vision to your ability to fly, but a solid graduate degree in business would put your life back on track. You could still save the world, but maybe from behind a desk. You’re no longer Superboy, you’re Superman and it’s time to take a serious look at where being a “defender of humanity” or a “reporter” is taking you.