Even today, I am sometimes confronted by people who fail to understand my passion for comic books and pop-culture. More specifically, they fail to understand why I am a "fanboy," or "super-fan." It doesn't happen often, but it does happen, and I wanted to address it:
Some people, when they see pictures from a convention at which many are dressed as Star Wars or comic book characters, just think us silly. There's nothing wrong with that; many of us are! But these people do not necessarily misunderstand the love which drives us, they just think it's a waste of time, or the like. This is not addressed to them.
The people I'm talking about are the ones who see these same pictures and think some mental illness is at-play, or that we're driven by some social, or personal, tragedy which forced us to retreat into a world of our own making.
I vividly remember many years ago, while staying with a co-worker, I was explaining to her how I couldn't leave for work until I had watched my favorite TV show. "Those characters," I said, "are like my friends." She literally looked at me like I had just said, "I took a huge dump in the fridge."
She said she thought I needed "help." She was very, very serious.
She was so serious that I was flummoxed! I knew what I wanted to say, but I was a little shocked - and more than a little fucking offended. I knew what I meant and didn't think, at all, that it indicated a need for "help" of any kind. At the time, I thought she was just being nasty, but I've met several people with similar attitudes since then, and that leads me to believe she was not just being ugly; she really thought I had some kind of problem because I said the characters on my TV show were "like my friends."
The truth is that they were/are. And so are the characters in my comic books.
I don't think these characters are "real" like you and I; I don't think the actors portraying them are actually their characters; I don't think these characters are communicating with me. I am 100% fine, insofar as all that goes. But I most certainly do have a relationship with these characters and their stories - what would be their "lives," were they real, living people - and I most certainly do consider them my "friends."
Now, let me be clear: I also say cigarettes are my "friend." They cost me too much and are slowly killing me, so that's a pretty fair description, but I don't really mean that; I mean that cigarettes comfort me, and have for many years. No matter how bad the rest of my life is, no matter what I'm facing, a cigarette brings me that same comfort. It's reliable, we have a long history, and I'm not advocating smoking for others, but it works for me.
But I digress...
When people think back on highschool (or college, or their 20s, et.al.), they recall the people with whom they hung-out, as well as the activities in which they were involved, and so on. It's the same for me, except that some of the people with whom I "associated" were not real: They were comic book, movie, and TV characters.
I know this dates me, but I'm open about being a 35-year old geek, so: When Storm lost her powers, those stories were... they were just so powerful to me. With all due respect to Chris Claremont and everyone else, as an adult writer, I realize they were not very well-written and all, but they are young fiction, and they sure as hell spoke to me as a youngster!
I felt like I was Storm - I had little power to change things around me, but I knew I had a strength of character on which I could rely; I knew that, just like Storm, I had power within me and that one day, I would wield it. I knew, all along, that she would regain her powers sooner or later, but reading that comic every month, seeing how she dealt with being a powerless superhero, how she handled her relationships with Forge and Rogue (who had accidentally shot her with a gun her boyfriend, Forge, had made - eliminating her powers) - Ororo, who is considered a deity in her homeland! - it meant something to me. It helped me.
I will always think of Storm as a friend.
Of course, I also related heavily to Wolverine - I think everyone in my generation did. We related to his anger, and wished we had his ferocity (and, just maybe, the ability to kill those who oppressed and hurt us without fear of reprisal). I related to Rogue, who never felt she was accepted by the others in her group (the X-Men, of course). I related to Longshot, who was a fish-out-of-water. I related to them all, and I cannot think back on my childhood or young adolescence without thinking of those characters, because those characters were with me through all of it, and no one else was.
To me, they were very "real" - in their own way. They dealt with real problems I also faced, they represented ideals with which I agreed, and they comforted me. While I sometimes disagreed stringently with their actions or decisions, I reveled in the chance to go along for the ride. And, once a month, I got to sit down with them and hear all about what they had been up to for the last 30 days.
These characters, like those of TV shows, really were my "friends," and always will be. And if you think that is crazy, then you really don't want to get to know me; that's just the tip of the iceberg. Shit, that's just like knowing "there's an iceberg around here, somewhere;" that ain't even the smallest part of my Crazy.
And anyone who has a favorite musical artist or author, or truly loves a movie or book, or has watched soap operas for years and years, knows exactly what I mean when I say these characters and their stories are my "friends." Others may think it's a waste of time, but no moreso than watching football for five hours every weekend or tinkering on that old truck that you know you should have sold when you had the chance, or a thousand other things.
And for those who think it's indicative of actual mental illness? Well, those people need to visit a mental health facility and STFU.
© C Harris Lynn, 2010
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