For me, the Jewish holidays are never just about tradition; this is a time for me to reconnect with family and re-evaluate parts of my life. It was Passover, 2006, and I brought my new girlfriend/future wife Yael home to meet my family for the first time. We were downstairs, in my old bedroom. My brother and his wife had just arrived and it was a few minutes before dinner.
“Can I look at your old comics?” Scott asked as he entered the room. Looking through stuff in my old room was like stepping into a time warp, where all sorts of pop culture treasures could be found. “I just wanna see what comics you still have.”
He went straight for the sliding wood-paneled door, knowing exactly where to look. He slid the door open, carefully lifted and cradled a pile of comics to his chest and sat down on the edge of the bed. We watched him lift one after another to his nose, open to a random page, and sniff deeply.
“Snifffff! Ahhh, I LOVE the smell of old comics,” Scott explained. So much for convincing my future wife that I come from a normal family.
“Um, dude, you just sniffed an issue of ROM: Spaceknight,” I warned him. “Take it easy, there are dire wraiths in those pages.”
I make no excuses for Rom: Spaceknight.
Witnessing my brother perform this bizarre ritual stung at me nostalgically. I began to question why I had completely stopped reading and collecting comics.
Sorting through piles of comics later that night while Yael slept, I felt myself slowly slipping back in time. Long-buried feelings of enjoyment began to surface as I studied the thrilling covers and heroic poses that helped me temporarily dodge the plights of puberty.
Pushing aside some unpleasant memories of junior high like I was discarding embarrassing photos, I began to uncover the familiar excitement of entering another dimension. I could hear characters' voices as I thought they might sound: Wolverine's gruff one-liners, Nightcrawler's nasal German accent, Adam West (of course) as Batman, Dan Gilvezan's Casey Casem-esque voicing for Spidey, and Thor's booming vows. My mental arsenal of sound effects from Star Trek, movies and various animated shows hurled me right into the middle of street-level fistfights and desperate deep-space battles.
It was all coming back to me. The thrill of comics had seemingly faded, but I had really just filed them away safely, to be rediscovered years later just as I had done back on that fateful autumn day back in '82. This time, however, I actually had a girlfriend. Putting it all into perspective, life looked pretty good to me.
Defenders #117 - a very emotional issue.
Fast-forward to December. I discover The Baseball Card Dugout, a tiny, dusty treasure of a comic book and baseball card store, in Carroll Gardens, Brooklyn. They have old comics. I wasn't ready for new comics yet, so it was perfect timing for my indulgence. I wanted to drag my friend Dan over there.
***
12.9.06
My email to Dan:
“... went to the Dugout today and got more Detective Comix and Defenders!”
Dan's response:
“There's been three decades of amazing comics and your
stuck on crappy old Defenders back-issues! Stop
reliving yr childhood man--IT'S OVER!!
They have comics where people show boobies and curse
and contemplate serious issues beyond how Valkyrie's
breast-plate doesn't make her boobs sag. SHEESH!!
-D
***
I could see Dan's point, but it would be months before I would come back to the future.
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