Disclaimer: It probably will not compromise my secret identity too badly to reveal that I am not Bruce Timm, or anyone else who owns Justice League.
The Flash threw back his head and laughed. "You mean your father had to tie you down with triple-strength baling wire to get you to stay still for photographs?" he said.
Superman nodded ruefully. "It made for some charming pictures, I can tell you," he said. "Ma and Pa standing side by side, all smiles, and little Superbaby in between them, trussed up like a prize chicken."
The Flash shook his head. "Oh, man, that's incredible," he said. "I never realized how lucky I was not to get my powers until I was eleven."
"Not that that entirely protected you from embarrassment, of course," came a vaguely Jamaican-sounding voice, and the two superheroes turned around to see J'onn J'onzz standing in the doorway.
"There was your first date with Louise Goodman, for instance," he mused, "when your hand started trembling so badly that you nearly rubbed the skin off her wrist. It can't be pleasant, inviting a girl out to a movie and winding up having to give her first aid."
The Flash reddened. "Um… you know, I think I hear Hawkgirl calling me," he said. "I'll just be right back." A millisecond later, he was gone, having run directly through an obligingly discorporate J'onn.
Superman frowned at the quietly smiling Martian. "You know, J'onn," he said, "a mature member of a highly advanced race really shouldn't take so much pleasure in taunting his fellow heroes."
"I beg to differ, Superman," said J'onn. "Many of the best authorities would recognize what I just did as an important spiritual exercise."
Superman blinked. "A spiritual exercise?" he repeated.
"Certainly," said J'onn with a smile. "It is universally acknowledged that, in order to become sufficiently spiritual, it is necessary to mortify the Flash."