Tuesday, May 15, 2012
(Photo: The “COMICS” cover of one of my comic book boxes, illustrated with pen and marker when I was about fourteen years old, along with some of the more important collectibles.)
Almost everyone from my generation can claim to love Star Wars and comic books, but my brother and I really were those nerdy creative kids that rushed over to the comic store every two weeks or so to pick up the latest issues. We were also those lucky kids who had supportive parents, like our mom who signed us up for the first Star Wars fan club, Bantha Tracks, and made us themed birthday cakes with our favorite Marvel Comics characters. This weekend, after years of my dad bugging me to help clean some of my old boxes out of his garage, I finally decided to look through my old comic collection, the first time in over fifteen years.
Inside the two long boxes were priceless treasures: stories I’d read and lived a thousand times in my youth, whole series that I had all but forgotten, and a few rare collectibles from before my time that I had scrimped and saved up to purchase in my youth and rarely opened. It was a bit overwhelming and I will admit at times a little emotional.
Some people have told me that I should hurry to sell them, that the well-needed funds are easily attained simply by parting with these items I had all but ignored for over a decade now. But I don’t think they were ignored or neglected. As an adult I’ve reflected on the lessons they taught me countless times. The fights against injustice, the need for defining the gray areas between good and evil, doing what is right instead of what you personally desire. I learned about foreign languages, politics, geography, history, religions, and most importantly, human nature. I learned not to judge people simply by how they appeared, I learned about a world much larger than my own.
I think I have some rereading to do.