It was a Wednesday.
Following 23 hours of labor, Drew Theodore P. Lipsky (the P stood for nothing in particular) entered the world at 11:59 p.m. He was born a bit blue in the face; but at the time that was easily explained by the hypoxia.
No one least of all the overworked obstetric staff of Lowerton General Hospital was in a position to appreciate the deeper significance of that color. Or the prophetic irony behind the moment itself: having fought all to day to delay his own birth from the most woeful of days to the most ambitious, and with his goal not only in sight but within reach, newborn baby Drew would find himself falling short by mere moments. It was to be his first grand failure, and the one which would set the stage for all the others to follow.
Compared to that, the mishap during the bris was but a minor setback. One which was kept under the table, when both the rabbi and the hospital (eager to avoid a scandal) were quite willing to settle with the Lipsky family out of court.
Drew's mother denied him nothing. Except, of course, for material possessions. It was far from what she'd wanted; but with her husband stationed overseas nine months out of the year, she was unwilling to be separated from her little Drewbie for even the span of an eight-hour workday. Instead, mother and son spent nearly every waking moment together, or at least in the same part of the house; it was said often by snippety neighbors that Myrtle Lipsky put the 'mothering' in 'smothering'.
Those apron strings would remain uncut well into Drew's adult life.
Of course, under the circumstances he probably couldn't help being spoiled: absent father, no siblings, with only one relation anywhere near his age. And that relation, his ham-handed cousin Eddie, had no patience for anything small and delicate: which included both Drew and most of his initial experiments. To keep his cousin interested and willing to help, Drew had to learn to dream big, build big but to avoid big words.
Fueling those experiments cost money that neither of them had. Fortunately, both Drew and Eddie's moral compasses skewed heavily south-to-north; neither of them balked at shoplifting, snatching waitresses' tips from tables, and myriad other petty crimes. From there, they began to specialize: Eddie developed a love of all things loud and mechanical, especially those with wheels; while Drew found himself drawn toward robots, weapons and other devices of individualized destruction.
That last may have been his grandfather's fault. Bartholomew Lipsky was a frustrated inventor and would-be evil genius; unfortunately, his entire legacy pretty much consisted of half-written, mostly-illegible plans and one badly-scratched celluloid gramophone record from the 1904 Middleton World's Fair, containing the mysterious quote, "And when the Electrostatic Illuminator is mine, the whole World's Fair will bow before me!"
Melodrama, thy name is Lipsky.
But of course, most of the world wasn't destined to know him by that name. So how did his nom de guerre of choice come about? Well for starters, it was a Sunday.
The Lipsky cousins were down at the local junkyard, scavenging for parts: Drew was looking for something to power his mini laser cannon, while the younger-but-larger Eddie wanted to build the, quote, "Biggest muffler ever! Seriously."
Neither was having much luck. After an hour or so, Eddie commented, "This sucks, cuz. Too bad we can't grab the bus and head over to Upperton; I hear their junkyard's sweet."
"We can't take the bus, Eddie, because one, we don't have any money; two, how would we get the parts back home; and three, we don't have any money."
"I know, I know." Five seconds ticked by. "But what if we lived in Upperton instead, man? In some swanky digs like that Paisley fella. Then we could walk to the junkyard! Seriously."
Drew chuckled. "Plus, then we'd have money."
"Oh yeah, cuz. That too."
"But if we lived in Upperton, we'd have to have a better name than Paisley. Or Lipsky. Nobody thinks a Lipsky could ever rule the world."
"No problem, man." Eddie pointed his thumb at his chest. "I got my name all picked out. I'm gonna be Eddie the Fixer-Upper."
"Really?" Drew laughed. "And you think that'll make people take you seriously? No no no, you need a name that plays to your strengths. Let's see . . . Fixer Ed? No. Motormouth? Tempting, but no. Motor Head? I've got it! Motor Ed! Oof!"
That last was because Eddie had clapped his older cousin on the back. "Motor Ed? Sweet! I like it, cuz! Seriously! But what about you? What name are you gonna use once you're famous?"
"Oh, that's easy. I'm basing my evil genius name on one of the fiercest creatures ever. I will be," dramatic pause, "Doctor Dragon!"
Now it was Eddie's turn to laugh; and he started rolling around on the ground for good measure. "Seriously? Dr. Dragon? That's the best you got? Seriously."
To say the smaller Lipsky was a bit miffed, would be putting it mildly. "And what's wrong with dragons?"
"Nothing, cuz. Except . . . you're not one." Eddie thought about it for a moment. Or two. Or three.
Finally, he said, "Maybe all it needs is something harder. Y'know, like those heavy metal sounds. Maybe we could call you Døktør Dråkkën. Whaddya think, cuz?"
"Hmm. I'm not a fan of all those weird symbols; they'll make it harder to write my name when signing new laws. Not to mention autographs. But I like the basic idea; when I'm ready to conquer the world, I shall call myself . . . Dr. Drakken!"
Two minutes later, Eddie uncovered a not-very-rusty electrical generator and Drew chanced upon a long tube bent into a U shape; and the whole conversation was forgotten. But thus was Dr. Drakken born.
As for the blue skin: funny you should ask. Not funny ha-ha, mind you. But since you brought it up, it was a Tuesday. . . .