I’ve never been shy about sharing the fact that I favor the funnybooks. I guess of any vice one could have, reading comics isn’t all that bad. When I was small, my parents would bring home whatever they saw at the grocery store newsstand (Yeah, newsstands still had comics then!) that they thought I would like. These mainly consisted of comic book versions of my favorite cartoons: Looney Tunes, Popeye, Tom and Jerry, Donald Duck, essentially, kids’ stuff…

God bless Google, here is the first 'real' comic I ever owned. Scary, huh?

At 13, I bought my first ‘real’ comic book. It was an issue of Batman featuring Killer Croc, and it began an obsession with comics, Batman in particular, that would take me through the rest of my life…

Fast forward to me at 19 years old. I had graduated high school and started going to a community college. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I had no real sense of direction. I was interested in too many things. I took classes in psychology, theater, biology, philosophy, and art.

My second semester, I was bored with the relationship I was in, but too weak to end it. I just knew that I wouldn’t be able to find anyone else that would accept a tubby fanboy like me, so I was settling. We didn’t really understand each other, but hey, she stuck around, so maybe she felt something I didn’t, right?

So I walk into my art class for the semester, and I saw the most gorgeous woman I had ever seen. She had a long flowing halo of dark red hair and a smile that would melt the hardest of hearts. Of course, I couldn’t go up and talk to her, it took her boisterous friend (there’s always one of those in these stories, isn’t there?) to introduce us. It was her friend that got this wonderful goddess to sit at a table near mine, to give us a chance to talk. And talk we did. Almost immediately, we began finishing each other’s sentences. I entertained the idea of dumping my girlfriend and running off with this wonderful woman, but again, I was weak.

Fortunately, my girlfriend made the decision for me. She’d been seeing another guy, and liked him more than me. I felt numb, but not necessarily hurt. Was I mad that she made the first move? Probably. I wanted to be the one to do the dumping! (Who doesn’t?)

So, sans girlfriend, I continued to talk to my Angel of the Art Class. There were several times that we would complete a sentence or say the same thing at the same time. Her friend would throw her hands up and say, ‘Oh, just get married already!’

What a dream boat!

Here was the knockout blow: She referred to Robin Williams as sexy. I admire Mr. Williams greatly. He is a very funny comedian and an amazing actor. But sexy? I thought of my own tubby hairy frame and thought, maybe this could work!

After all our discussions in art class, all the times we would laugh and joke in the cafeteria, I still couldn’t muster the courage to ask her on an actual date. Again, enter the boisterous friend. When the gorgeous redhead wasn’t looking, her friend slipped me a phone number and said, ‘Just call her!’

Chicken that I am, I sat on the number all summer. Luckily, fate brought us together the following semester, and in November of that year, we finally went on a date.

I still remember first setting foot in her home. She had her own house, while I still lived with my parents, in typical fanboy fashion.

…And she had a four year old daughter. She was older than me, and all of these things combined is pretty intimidating to a 20 year old who only really had one other real relationship in his life. But as I looked around her home and saw the comic book and pez dispenser collections, I knew I couldn’t leave.

It was more than those interests, obviously. It was the type of mother she was, it was the way that she thought. It was her sense of style. While I tended to plaster the walls with nothing but super heroes, she could somehow seamlessly incorporate prints of classic paintings by Matisse and Van Goghwith the four color heroes we both cherished.

One of our favorite arguments is whether Batman or Superman is the better hero. She’ll argue that Superman could do anything, but he chooses to use his abilities for good. I argue that Batman is self-made. He has no powers, but has honed his body and his mind to be the World’s Greatest Detective. She argues that Clark Kent is someone you’d want to hang around with, while Bruce Wayne is a douche. I argue that Bruce Wayne is the mask, and that Batman is the true identity… etc., etc.

DS9 became my very favorite Trek.

Before Bobbette and I started dating, I was a huge Star Wars fan. I thought that Star Wars was about characters, and Star Trek was more about the technology. She set out to prove me wrong. We started with, of all things, Voyager. A local TV station was running reruns late at night. Luckily, when we started, they were into the later seasons, if we’d started at season one, I don’t know how long I would have lasted. As it was, I immediately fell for Seven of Nine‘s battle to regain her humanity. I loved Tom Paris and his romance with a Klingon and fascination with twentieth century culture…

This became my new fanboy obsession. The library had all seasons of Next Generation and Deep Space Nine, and I ravenously consumed it all. I began writing Star Trek stories and entering the now defunct Strange New Worldsshort story competition. (For a sample of my Trek writing, check out my favorite of my stories; ‘The Stars Aren’t As Far As You Think‘) I never won anything, but I feel that the experience taught me a lot about having a passion for something and putting everything I had into that thing. I read so many Trek books and spent so much time on Memory Alpha, the Star Trek wiki, that I very nearly burnt myself out.

I spent a lot of time here babbling about the geeky stuff, because that’s easy. But the fact is that without my wonderful wife, I would probably still be out wandering the world with no direction. My compass would not point north, and I would not have the amazing children that you all have heard so much about.

Happy Anniversary, Bobbette. Here’s to forever!

Batman makes a pretty good tiger, don't ya think?

We had a great time last night, and thank goodness for the extra hour’s sleep! (Not that I got to bed at a decent hour, mind you, Calli was too wound up for that…)

Before I regale you with our tales of Ghoulish adventure, however, I need to give you a little background…

For a few weeks now, the Justice League have been living in our house. Calli has decided that she is the Flash, Mommy is Hawkgirl, Kat is Wonder Woman, Tristin is Batman, and I am Superman. She addresses us accordingly, making for some great lines when taken out of context:

‘Whatcha cookin, Superman?’

‘Why ya cryin, Batman?’

‘Aw, Batman, you’re sooooo cute!’

‘Batman can’t talk. He’s a baby!’

More recently, she switched herself out and became Strawberry Shortcake. The logic of a three year old…

This is a tender caress, and not a slap... Honest!

...See? They love each other!

As I was preparing for the first Halloween party of the day, I asked Calli what I should wear. I didn’t put together a costume, so I was just thinking of throwing on the Beetlejuice or Jack Skellington T-Shirt and calling it good.

But when I asked Calli for her opinion, she screwed up her face in that ‘Are you crazy?’ way and said, ‘You’re Superman.’

So Superman T-Shirt donned, we went out to the car. She kind of wandered around in her Wonder Woman costume, and I said ‘Calli, come on, climb up in to your car seat!’

‘I’m Strawberry Shortcake!’ came the reply, since I had not addressed her correctly.

‘What?’ I asked. ‘I thought you were Wonder Woman?’

The crazy look again. ‘I’m Strawberry Shortcake DRESSED like Wonder Woman!’

‘Well, OK, Strawberry Shortcake-Wonder Woman-Diana, get in the car!’

This seemed to appease her…

Some Halloween highlights:

Wonder Woman takes a respite in a spooky graveyard...

The first party was at the rec center near our house. Calli nailed the bean bag toss, but didn’t want to put her hand in the dark boxes with gooey stuff inside. Also, she wouldn’t eat anything. The hot dogs they were grilling smelled really good to me. I kept dropping hints, but Daddy wound up going hungry…

We went back home to pick up Mommy and Tristin and drove a half hour to the second party… which had been canceled. That was a repeating theme this year: all the events that we’d gotten used to going to were scaled back or canceled altogether. Maybe that’s a topic for another post on the economy…

The kids had fallen asleep, so Mommy and I stopped for a Larkburger. (Which makes up for the lost hot dogs, because these things are crazy delicious.) We were also in the mood for Frosties, so we swung through Wendy’s. Calli woke up by this time, and wanted a ‘toy and burger’. Wendy’s has this nasty habit of putting CDs of children’s audiobooks in their kid’s meals. What’s a three year old do with that? I asked for a toddler toy, and they didn’t have any. Cripes! What a Halloween this was turning out to be!

So we booked it back home, listening to a God-awful story about a kid afraid of Halloween costumes. (Doubly irritating because it booted my Halloween Mix out of the player, but nevermind…)

We got home as Batman started getting fussy. So Mommy decided she’d stay in with the little one, and Calli and I would Chick or Cheek.

The Adventures of a cold Super Hero!

By this time, it had gotten dark and COLD! I put on my Spider-Man coat, and Calli put on her coat over her costume, leaving only the tiara and a bit of starred blue skirt to identify her. She then decided the tiara was better served as a necklace.

The first house we went to, the man that came to the door said, ‘Oh, my! You’re cute just as you are!’

‘She has a costume!’ I blurted, ‘It’s just all covered up because it’s cold!’

‘Well, you’re supposed to put the costume over that stuff!’

‘Yeah, I guess!’ I said, irritated at him for critiquing our Halloween habits, and irritated at myself for sounding like a petulant child.

I told Calli that no one was going to know she was Wonder Woman unless she wore her ‘crown’ on her head, and she let me adjust it. Everyone else knew she was Wonder Woman, except the guy dressed like Wayne from Wayne’s World that kept calling her Supergirl. ‘No! I not Supergirl! I Wonner Woman!’ I don’t think he heard her…

One house was really scary! It was all dark and had spooky sounds and screams coming from it. There was some kind of black curtain hung around the porch that blew in the wind.

‘Wanna go in the scary house?’ I asked.

‘No, it’s tooo scary!’ Calli said, clutching my hand.

‘Then let’s run past the scary house! Ready! Say, You’re too scary, scary house!’

And we did…

We lasted about a half hour. It was just too darn cold. But Calli had a great time.

Wonder Woman ... and Friends!

For all the screw ups of the day, the big payoff was when, after showing off the loot to Mommy, I was downstairs making hot chocolate and hot apple cider, when Calli came down and said, ‘You were awesome, Superman!’

‘Me? What did I do?’

‘You took me to Halloween.’ *Big hug*

My favorite TV dad has been ‘dead’ for three seasons. ‘Dead’ in quotes because: a) The actor that portrayed him his very much alive, and b) It’s a show based on a comic book, and who stays dead in a comic book?

I am, of course, talking about John Schneider’s portrayal of Jonathan Kent on Smallville.

While some aspects of Smallville seem hokey to me, (such as the fact that we’re nine seasons in, Clark’s a reporter at the Daily Planet and flirting with costume ideas, shouldn’t the show be over by now? At least change the name to Superman and be done with it…) Jonathan Kent struck a chord in me.

Imagine what life must have been like for Jonathan and Martha Kent. You find a baby in the burning wreckage of an unidentified spacecraft. You take the boy in, knowing that one day you will have to tell him of his amazing arrival into this world. Sooner than you’re probably ready for, the boy starts exhibiting amazing powers. Powers beyond those of mortal men. You feel the boy slipping from you. All you can hope is that you’ve instilled in him the values that will make him more than just a productive member of society, but someone who will make the world a better place.

Jonathan Kent on Smallville is obviously out of his depth. What does a Kansas farmer know about raising a super being? Although the challenge terrifies him, he meets that challenge head-on with grace and the patience of a saint. Anyone else would have probably given up when Clark was taken over by Red Kryptonite or Jor-El threatened his life, but Jonathan had the unconditional love that a father has for his son. He loved that Kryptonian as if Kal-El were his own.

Before this gets too goofy (too late), let me just say that there’s something about fiction, and science fiction in particular, that can cut to the heart of a subject matter and tell it like it truly is. Orson Scott Card often says that science fiction is the one fiction genre that can be about something. Rod Serling created The Twilight Zone to explore controversial topics without sending censors through the roof. Smallville, for all it’s action and adventure and pretentious super model poses at commercial breaks, still fits within the science fiction mode of showing us something about ourselves.

Jonathan Kent, while exaggerated, points out some of the treachery of being a parent. ‘How would I deal with that?’ you find yourself asking. And while your child will probably not fly or burn holes in the school when he’s hot for teacher, you will have to deal with raging teenage hormones. All you can do is try to be that anchor.  Guide your child to the best of your abilities, and pray that he/she gets it.

'The look'

As for John Schneider’s portrayal? All I can say is, when Clark screwed up and John gave him ‘the look’, I felt like I was getting the lecture. But there were also several times that the love for his son almost seemed too much to bear, and that spilled off of the screen and into my heart as well.

So here’s to Jonathan Kent, may he rest in peace. Until he somehow miraculously returns at the Fortress of Solitude from an alternate dimension, as a clone, or an evil doppleganger.

Calli and Daddy crack each other up! Ok, Calli cracks Daddy up...

It has been said that laughter is the best medicine. I am a huge advocate of this. I laugh all the time.

I laugh when I’m happy.

I laugh when I’m nervous.

I laugh when something’s funny.

Most of all? I laugh at my kids.

It’s funny how kids know exactly what to do. They are probably more in tune with your likes and needs than any of your adult friends.

Just a few examples:

The other day, Calli, the two year old, tried to sing along to the CD I had just bought for Kat, the fifteen year old. We had just scooped up The Ting Tings, were listening to it in the car, and I hear Calli behind me singing “Name, name, name! Name name name!” (‘That’s Not My Name!’)

The wife and I were discussing some kind of adult drudgery (bills, etc.) one morning when from the bedroom we hear “SCHWOOOOO!” and out runs a fully awake Calli, arms outstretched Superman-style. (She woke up flying!)

When Kat was four or five, we were watching ‘The Batman Superman Movie’ and I said something about the Joker being a clown. Brow furrowed, she slowly turned and said deliberately, “Joker is NOT a clown!”

Calli had a case of the gimmes the other night. Our conversation went like this:

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“Daddy! Gimme popcorn!”

“Calli, what do we say?”

“Want it! Gimme popcorn!”

“Calli, do we say please?”

*Pause*

“Ooohh, yeah. ‘Please’ is ‘gimme’, nice.”

A child’s laughter is genuine. A child doesn’t know what a courtesy laugh is. They laugh when you’re really being funny, or you just hurt yourself. Either way, having a child in the home is definitely THE BEST way to brighten up the room.

Bottom line: have more kids! You couldn’t pay a comedian or watch enough farting pandas on YouTube for this much entertainment!