You will recognize his offspring, children of the Metal Man. Large or small, they’re close-resembling, raised and shaped by his own hands. Their beginning, humble history: they were born in dust and dirt, from a place that is a mystery, some refining didn’t hurt. Started out not so appealing but well-rounded, compass-drawn. Heat and harshness of annealing made them pliable, yet strong. Often Father has to hammer just to get his point across. Tap his mallet when they yammer-- with those children, he is boss. With all love and patience it takes, they’ve grown up in a good home.