Back when I was a kid, I loved comic books. My dad was also a fan. Dad would drive mom crazy by reading comics at the supper table, instead of talking to her. She hated comic books.
There was a strange man who lived at the end of our road who collected comics. His name was Gerald. Whenever he bought new books, he would loan them to me. Because of that, I was the local expert on everything comic, with knowledge including everything Clark Kent was doing, how Donald Duck would solve the latest mystery, if Bruce Wayne was in a foul mood…you get my drift.
My favorite comic was Superman and the Legion of Superheroes. In this one, Superboy would travel in time to a few hundred or so years into the future and join up with the superheroes of tomorrow. This made for some interesting reading for a kid, and perhaps led to the formation of some of my writing creativity.
I also loved the classics. Dad had every Classics Illustrated comic that he could find, and we read them together during the winter months, when the weather wasn’t fit to do anything else.
I laughed at the antics of the Pink Panther, shivered through Tales from the Crypt and the Boris Karloff comics, and I was amazed by the many oddities of the world in the Ripley’s Believe it or Not comics. I traveled with the crew of the Enterprise in the Star Trek series (Gold Key Comics) and rode on horseback along with Wyatt Earp, The Ringo Kid, and even Jonah Hex. Hell, I even acted like a millionaire, as I swam in my huge bank vault with Uncle Scrooge.
Comics have changed so much since I was a kid. Nowadays the pages are packed with violence rather than entertainment, and the years of sitting and chuckling to a funny, or envying That Poor Little Rich Boy and spooking everyone with The Friendly Ghost are gone, left to a few campy and very dumb movies based on those classics. I pity this generation, they don’t realize what they are missing.