We all have our own image of Batman, the singular idea of what the Caped Crusader is, does, and feels. For some, that idea looks like Frank Miller’s tank, a roided-out behemoth with hands the size of bobcats and a face you couldn’t saw through. Others see Batman as the nonsensical, fat-guy-in-a-little-coat Adam West, someone’s uncle who never quite grew up.

Then, there are those in the middle, like me, who see the Batman as a man bordering the edge of sanity, constantly questioning his own motives and always coming up with the same answer: the war is his to fight, and no one else’s.

Which is why Robin has no place in the Bat-universe.

Arising in the months following the Dark Knight’s emergence, Robin was the original marketing tie-in for children. Those behind Detective Comics understood that children, the industry’s bread and butter, may have a hard time identifying with, or even looking up to, a man whose demon-like demeanor could dispel even the faintest hope of humanity from his foes. Robin was the original gimmick — kids could identify with him, and would thus keep Batman in business.

Fortunately for later generations, the ploy worked, and the Batman comics have survived for nearly 70 years thanks, in part, to the role of Robin — all four (or five, if you're counting Miller’s works). The Boy Wonder's role can never be diminished in the Bat-universe. Simple as that. But it doesn’t mean that he belongs.

Ask yourself this: Why would Batman, so averse to allowing any woman into his life, not wanting to add the damsel-in-distress component, welcome a pre-teen under his wings? (Please, check your homoerotic jokes at the door). Why would this lonesome, brooding iso-path feel that it was his added duty to whisk away a mourning boy, thrust him into a palatial estate, and simply leave him to his own wits? Alfred can be entertaining, sure, but what would possess Bruce to think Dick Grayson would be happy in Wayne Manor, a self-described “mausoleum?”

Furthermore, the attire of Robin — green and yellow tights, a blindfold with eye-slits, and ballet shoes (?) — screams more than camp, more than flair, more than ridiculous. Batman, a creature from the night, can barely be allowed a golden chest-plate (redirecting opponents’ bullets to his armored chest). The costume makes the man, which is why Batman works so well once the sun sets. But if you saw a 13-year-old dancing on rooftops, four in the morning, bedecked in yellow and green tights? Sure, it may be a distraction, but in no way are you intimidated, in no way can Robin sleuth, and in no way is the costume effective.

The relationship between Batman and Robin has often been a bone of contention between DC writers/editors and the fans. Stuck with a child by his side, those churning out the comics felt the need to lighten up the protagonist, showing smiles, chortles, and back-slaps after those “silly” bad guys were tied up. Aw, look how much fun crime-fighting is! But this buffoonery and light-heartedness isn’t even the crux of Robin’s crime-fighting problems: What human in their right mind would force a child to experience the trials, mental drainage, and near-death experiences that Batman himself barely survives, day in and day out? Who would ever put that child in danger? Maybe certain GCPD members are right when they say that Batman endangers us all. If, according to DC editors, he is willing to put a Jonas Brothers lookalike in harm’s way, what won’t he do?