The Daily Procrastinator

This is NOT me.

I admit it – I’m over 30 and I collect comics. I’ve got six long boxes stored away in my closet packed with Marvel and DC comics dating back to when I started collecting in the early 80s. I quit my habit when I got to college, then restarted about five years ago when a student of mine gave me a copy of New Avengers #1. It was as if the gift had reawakened a long dormant addiction within me, and I was hooked again (Thanks, Chaz). I now make my weekly Wednesday run to the local comic book store to pick up my pull list, which varies from two to eight books a week (”books” – a euphemism of mine), and spend the evening after the kids are in bed reading about characters with names like Iron Man and Captain America saving the world.

Or beating the hell out of each other, as it were.

A grown man collecting comics is suspect, to say the least. Matt Groening’s “Comic Book Guy” often comes to mind, the comic-and sci-fi obsessed loser who wields his superhero knowledge like a weapon. And while I have seen fellow comic book geeks who fit the stereotype, it’s just not me. I’m married and have two daughters. I run half-marathons, I play sports. I have a rewarding career teaching college English. In other words, I’m an adult. But comic book collecting is often seen as a kid’s pursuit, to be outgrown before one hits puberty and moves on to more “adult” interests. And yet I still look forward to Wednesdays.

I guess I just don’t buy into the argument that superheroes are inherently childish. For as long as we’ve had stories to tell, we’ve had our superheroes. The Bible tells the story of Samson, the original strongman, the loss of his long locks his Kryptonite. The ancient Greeks had Heracles and Achilles, among many others. Beowulf, Robin Hood and King Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table are our early western heroes. All are stories still told and taught today, valued for what they tell us not just about ourselves but also for suggesting what we can become.

And so it is with today’s superheroes. They are today’s myths, tomorrow’s legends. Look at the organization of the Justice League, with its god-like heroes: Wonder Woman (Hera), Superman (Zeus), Batman (Hephaestus), The Flash (Hermes), Green Lantern (Apollo) and Aquaman (Poseidon). The Marvel heroes, however, are more human, often flawed in some way (Tony Stark is an alcoholic, Peter Parker is driven by guilt), just as Beowulf and King Arthur were, yet we still admire them.

Seriously, how cool is this?

There are certainly real heroes I can identify in my life, both intimately familiar (my parents) and anonymous (the 9/11 firefighters, e.g.), and all are a testament to the human capacity for love and sacrifice. Superheroes, while not real, exhibit these same qualities each week, and, for me, remind me that there is a potential for greatness in us all, despite an inability to lift 20 tons, turn invisible or fly. We just have to try.

Idealistic? Sure. But that’s why I still read comics books.