I walked out of the theater with so much more respect for Tony Stark. Up until that point, he was my least favorite Avenger. I saw him as whiny, rude, and stuck up. A rich kid that didn’t like to share his toys. I wished he would lose his “I’m so amazing” attitude, and actually get down and work to save the universe, like Steve, or Bucky, or Thor. But all of that changed when I saw this movie. For the first time, I saw what I had been missing all along. I didn’t see Stark as a rich person wishing the world would pander to him. I saw him as a broken person, who wanted so desperately to be a father. I saw him as someone that had strained against the restraints of detachment that wealth put him in. I saw him glance at other hurting people, his eyes soft. I saw him as the man that rushed to help a fallen woman, even as the world in front of him was being blown apart. I saw him as a father, clinging to his metaphorical son, who was crying into his arms that he “didn’t want to go.” And above all these things, I saw a man who was trying his best. Tony Stark isn’t perfect. Far from it. But he is trying. He’s pushing through his anxiety from the attack on New York. He’s spending more time with friends. With family. He’s getting married. He’s trying to save the butt of the teenage kid that keeps following him around. He’s trying to move on, to make things right. He’s brave. He is Tony Stark, and I don’t know why I couldn’t see that before.
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