When it comes to Heroes, *sighs*...... I actually watched the series until the end of season 3 and then I had to move on. Between eliminating excellent characters, shoddy writing (or lack of writing for that matter), and plotholes you could steer planets through (as a buddy so accurately stated) I could only be patient and loyal for so long until I could takes no more.
I even tried to rewatch Heroes Reborn until I took a long hard look in the mirror and rethink my life choices.
One of the few gems of the original series came in the form of a new character introduced in season 2: Monica Dawson aka "St. Joan." The cousin of Micah, this New Orleans native's storyline touched me on a deeper level than I surmise the writers ever intended.
Bright, ambitious, beautiful, fiercely kind, Monica is a young woman with dreams and goals. Though grounded and sensible, her dreams lies within the stars and she's not afraid of hard work to see them become a reality. In fact, she welcomes the challenge.
For instance, working at a fast food restaurant, she applies to be a manager, and while already over-qualified, she has to contend with legions of people (friends and boss alike) eager to line up and tell her why she can't have the job, why she shouldn't apply for the job and in essence, remember her place, as a woman and a person of color. Which is why her muscle mimicry ability to imitate any physical motion she witnesses was poetic on too many levels.
You see, Monica Dawson's story represents the black experience, particularly for those of us who commit the ultimate sin and dare to be ambitious and dare to strive for greatness. You see, too many young black kids have to deal with legions upon legions upon legions upon legions upon legions of white folks shooting down their dreams and sabotaging them at a young age. It's more common than most people realize and yes I speak from personal experience.
When you're a minority (whether it's based on gender, ethnicity, orientation, etc.), you're treated as a second class citizen. There's legions of ignorant assholes lining up to "put you in your place." And when you're eight years old and a minority, it's hard to develop a positive sense of self because you have the entire world telling you that you're inferior because your skin is brown and your hair is coarse. You're told to ignore those attitudes but it's kind of hard to ignore when you're eight years old and your classmates are calling you the n-word daily and reminding you that you're inferior because your ancestors were slaves.
And it didn't stop there. Racist whites resented me because I refused to be their form of ethnic entertainment. They were threatened not only because I was "uppity,""elitist," and threatened to debunk the myth of there being a master race and we're all either formidable or not based on our merits as people and not our race. On the flipside, I was reviled by self-loathing blacks who bought into the lie and was considered by them to be an Oreo because apparently it's written somewhere that blacks who are articulate (he speaks so well), intelligent and ambitious, listening to "white people music" or simply define themselves by their character and not solely by their race are clearly aspiring to be white and as such are abdicating their Negro Card. It's like being a person without a country. Sadly it wasn't until college and meeting other awesome progressive black peeps online that I learned that I wasn't an anomaly or some abberation of nature.
I tell you all of this so you can understand why I have such a deep appreciation for Monica Dawson. In powers and character she's an allegory to the testament of us ambitious POCs; to quote Annie Oakley:
Anything you can do,
I can do better.
I can do anything
Better than you.
