I remember reading the comic book “The Death of Superman” when I was 12. I was never much of a Superman fan but this was a major event and I wanted to know how the Man of Steel would die. Of course, in comic books death is only temporary and Superman was flawless. In real life my Superman, my dad Kenneth Ray Hardin Sr., died forever on October 3rd, 2025 and he was far from flawless. I called him my flawed Superman. So much so that I took him to get the Superman “S” symbol tattooed on his arm, despite the fact that he couldn’t care less about the character. In typical dad fashion he chose an image of the symbol bleeding. See that’s what made my dad Superman to me, he wasn’t perfect, and he didn’t try to be. He wore his flaws proudly for his sons to see, to learn from, literally on his sleeve.

Dad was known to his family and friends as Kenny, or “Pop/Pops/Pop-Pop” and, despite what he would sometimes try (and fail) to have us all believe, he was a kindhearted man that was always willing to help those in need. If you needed a shirt and Pop was wearing one then suddenly you had a shirt on and he was shirtless. Pop loved Ford trucks, working on cars with his sons, western movies, and riding his motorcycle in his younger days with his loving wife Teri of 46 years. Pop-pop also loved Christmas, as was evident by the joy he always had in watching his four grandchildren open their Christmas presents every year. He always made it a point to get Christmas gifts for the kids, no matter how much he was struggling financially, just like he did when my brother and I were growing up. Sure those Christmas presents may have needed a few turns of a wrench or an oil pan to catch what was leaking, but he made sure they ran on Christmas morning.

In his lifetime Pop mentored many of his son’s neighborhood friends that were in need of male role models and always had an open door, and even more open heart, to young men and women that were in need of parental guidance. He was extremely forgiving and would give everyone a second, third, fourth, etc. chance. He taught his sons the meaning of hard work from a young age, and what it meant to stand up for what you believe in. Pop only loved one woman in his lifetime, even when that one woman made it difficult at times, just as he made her life difficult in return. They started their story together as young kids, having one of their own before they even got out of high school, and grew old together. They never left each other's side over four and half plus decades, the ups and downs, and building a family together, until he took his last breath.

Pop is survived by my mom, the virtual other half of his existence Teri Lynn Hardin, as well myself, his oldest son Kenneth Hardin Jr. and my younger brother Dustin Hardin as well as our wives Bonnie Hardin and Jamie Hardin whom he always treated as if they were his very own children. Additionally, Pop-pop is survived by his four grandchildren; Dustin’s children Dustin Hardin (DJ) and Justine Hardin and my children Wesley Hardin and Kara Hardin. Pop will be missed dearly, thought of often, and (as I believe he would have it) used as an example, both good and bad, for those that will carry on the Hardin name that he blessed us with. See, to be a hero doesn’t mean you have to be flawless like Superman, that guy had it easy. It’s harder to be a hero when you are flawed, when you have struggles and demons yourself to battle, but you pull up your boots for others anyway. In my dad’s case those boots weren’t shiny red superhero boots, they were beat up old cowboy boots. We love ya pop. 

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