![]() ![]() I am also someone who is freaked out by the state of our shared world. As we got older, our crew got larger, and we started on role-playing games, science fiction/fantasy/horror on the page and screen, and rudimentary cosplay. We formed a crew, trading our comics and developing a shorthand of symbols and tropes from the books to map out our lives. However, I bonded with a few like-minded kids–Black, Asian, Arab, white, and Jewish–over the adventures of righteous heroes doing battle against dastardly villains. I brought some of my coveted comic collection to school, but most of the kids I knew were more interested in athletics or other playground games. And maybe that boy could do amazing things, meet amazing people, and make positive changes in his neighborhood. In the Spider-Man outfit, anyone could be under that mask, including a little Black boy, fending for himself in the projects. While I knew his alter ego, Peter Parker, was white, Spidey was one of the only heroes I read who wore a full mask. I read and reread the dozen or so Spider-Man books. But it was Spider-Man that changed my life. In her absence, I read every single comic, some of them multiple times. “I’ll see you,” she said, then left for a week. I set all these aside, though, the week before my kindergarten Christmas vacation, when my mom gave me two enormous boxes of comic books. Despite having dyslexia, I was a dogged and early reader, combating loneliness by forcing myself to read Jet, Ebony, and Reader’s Digest magazines stuffed into the cabinets of our end tables. By kindergarten, I could cook for myself, iron my clothes, and survive with minimal supervision.Ĭomics gave me my superpower. ![]() My mother routinely left me alone, living her separate life. ![]() I grew up in a violent household, where there was little interest in child-raising. Who am I to make this call? That’s a particular kind of origin story. There is a giant bat symbol in the night sky…. ![]()
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