…I Learned From Comic Books

The other day I was gathering a up a particularly large stack of recently-read comics, transporting them from my nightstand drawers to a bookshelf in the office, where they will gather until I get another small comic book box to put them in, and I wondered, not for the first time, "Why do I read these things?"

No, I wasn't in one of those moods where I was frustrated with the sheer quantity of comics that I was lugging. It wasn't me trying to come to grips with the fact I will be reading the vast majority of these soon-to-be-boxed comics only once. It wasn't even me doing quick and dirty calculations to see how much food and shelter I could pay for from my weekly expenditure.

It was a real question and had several answers, a few of which we've probably talked about before. But most importantly, the question helped me remember just how much of an impact comics made on me as a kid, and how those initial experiences really shaped my personality, in a way. That might sound heavy, but, honestly: I learned a lot by reading comics, about life and also about myself. I understand now that those early books created a certain set of values, many of which propelled me through life, and many of which stay with me now. 

I am having a hard time figuring out which superhero was my first, but I do know one thing: as a kid, my faith in a character was measured in sheets and pillowcases. Using these cotton goods as a baseline, I can tell you from the get-go that Spider-Man and Superman have been with me from as close to the beginning as I can imagine (I did have a third set of bedware, from Star Wars, that I remember fondly). However, since I know I had quite a few Superman storybooks (and storybook + record combinations–the picture to the left is from the record I had as a kid!), we'll just start with Supes.

I've discussed Superman quite a bit, so I will make this quick. The main thing that I got from Superman (and still try to glean to this day), is this sense of hope and optimism that Superman embodies. However, the hope and optimism is more about how Superman elevates mankind, helps us be better, than Superman being the "ultimate" person. Yes, Superman would come to the rescue and help us out, but so many of the stories that I read when I was younger featured Superman helping out a kid and ultimately showing the kid just how inherently strong and smart he was, with Superman helping the kid realize these qualities as opposed to "just" being the savior.  Of course, I don't think I was necessarily able to express that as kid–I had two capes and wanted to fly very badly, I wanted powers — but the idea that there is a Superman/Superwoman inside each one of us was, and continues to be, something that I find myself taking comfort in.

As a kid, Spider-Man taught me that we're all special, that we all have something to contribute, and, on the flipside, that even if you have powers and are a hero, it doesn't mean that life is easy. I know I got a lot out of the fact that Peter had a hard time figuring out how to be a teenager and a hero at the same time — plus, he had glasses and was hopeless with girls. And while I just accepted the whole "great powers/responsibility" thing as part of his "thing," that concept has definitely matured and stayed with me as I have gotten older and, quite honestly, has helped me remember just how fortunate I am to have the life I have, that a good life is a gift, and I should make sure to remember that there is a certain amount of responsibility that comes with it. Peter also was being raised by his aunt, which I know made me think about what my life would have been without my parents. Peter's experience with loss is pretty significant, and I think I learned more about the loss of someone close through comics before I really experienced it on my own.

Speaking of loss, I must admit I am kind of amazed at how I just took the murder of Bruce Wayne's parents in stride as a kid. I know I didn't obsess over it—I certainly imagined myself in his position, but didn't freak out about it–the fact that he was being raised by Alfred was just the way it was, and there was nothing more to be said about it. I am pretty sure I did not spend too much time on thinking about why he needed to dress up like a bat, either—probably because, as a kid, he was Batman first and Bruce Wayne second.  

When it comes to lessons learned, Batman taught me that who you are is enough. He did not have powers—he did not need powers. He was able to train himself to be the physical powerhouse that he was, and he studied hard to make him the "world's greatest detective."  I know it sounds silly–I was a kid, after all–but I really took that to heart, that he even though he was surrounded by superheroes that were technically more powerful than he was, he was still the hero that Superman partnered with in World's Finest. To this day, my favorite team up is still Batman and Superman; I love watching writers figure out new ways to show how their powers and personalities complement each other.

Given all this, you might surprised to know, that if you asked the ten year old version of me who was my favorite superhero, I would have said, as quickly as humanly possible: "The Flash." (Barry Allen, natch.) I will admit that this was mostly because I really liked the idea of cleaning my room and doing homework really, really fast. It was not until later that I realized that even though he was indeed doing these chores very quickly, he still had to do them, that there was still effort involved, and that just because it went by quickly on the page, it went by in basically "normal" time for Allen. This realization, by the way, kind of bummed me out. Still, I spent a lot of time running as fast as I possibly could, which did not, unfortunately, translate into my being an athlete, but it did tire me out.  

In the end, Iron Man taught me a fundamental lesson that stays with me to this very day. When I started reading Iron Man, he was a drunk and basically homeless, which, let me tell you, was kind of a bummer—I actually didn't buy the Iron Man book all that often because I wasn't sure just what kind of a book it actually was. But I did end up getting an issue which was basically a retelling of his origin story, which I thought was extremely cool–and very important to keep around.

I was at the playground in some kind of after school or summer camp, talking to some older kids about this Iron Man comic and it turned out that one of them was a big fan of Iron Man, especially since I was telling him all about the "first issue" of Iron Man that I owned. He knew that I liked Spider-Man, and suggested a trade: a brand new issue of Amazing Spider-Man for that first issue of Iron Man, which I admitted to him I had grown tired of. Fast forward to a week later when we do the trade, and I learned what the numbers on the front of the issue actually meant.  Still, despite his friend's grumblings, the trade went through, and I learned about comic book numbering—and that there are things that one might own that others might want to own as well, and willing to trade for it.

It always kind of amazes me when I talk to parents and they don't readily recognize just how great comics are for kids. I really do meet parents who look slightly askance when I ask them if their kids are reading comics or not, especially if their kids aren't really into reading "regular" books that often. I tend to focus on how it made me a better reader and got me into drawing, but I think I should remember some of the fundamental lessons the characters taught me as well. I know it sounds cliché, but I was a pretty quiet, shy and dorky kid and I really did take comfort in being able to come back to these stories, time and time again. These were more than characters on a page (or pillowcase) — these were relationships, my relationships, and I learned a lot from what we went through together. 

I got a lot out of reading comics as a kid — and I get a lot from them now; I just focus on different aspects of comics, like the art and how different writers tell stories. But I think there's also a quiet continuity for me, that by maintaining my relationships to these characters and stories, I am also maintaining a connection to that little kid who was trying to figure out who he was going to be in this world. I think it helps puts things in a nice perspective, and I'm grateful.

How about you? What did you learn from comics as a kid that still resonates with you today?

Mike Romo would like to remind The Industry that he is an actor in LA. Facebook, twitter, email, your choice.