One of the worst days in my life.

I just got back from bicycling half way across Seattle and back again. The weather was perfect and I felt fantastic. Too bad the meeting that I was scheduled to keep I really wasn't looking forward to. Recently I've gone through my comic book collection and I've been advertising them on Craig's List and I am preparing to auction them on Ebay as well. I jus t s old some my prized possessions at a price that would make any comic book collector’s mouth drop to the floor. A few of those comic books I've had since I was a teenager. I cannot describe the intense pain that I felt inside, it hurt me so deeply to part with my Wolverines and Spider Man. I wanted to just turn and walk out of that cafe. And after I sold them I wanted to chase the collector down screaming at the top of my lungs "no, no, stop, oh please for all that is good in this world NOOOOOOOooooo! I changed my mind."



Today is literally one of the worst monumental biggest days of my life that I will remember for as long as I am alive. I am not exaggerating at all, I could not be more serious. I am going to mourn this day, mark it on my calendar, and remember it every year for as long as I am alive. And each passing generation it will be one of my dying wishes that this day be remembered. Do you think I am over dramatizing this? Please understand that I am not. Today is one of the saddest days of my life.

There are probably four days that I can mark in my life that I will never forget because it hurt me so much. The day that my grandmother died. The day that I got divorced from my 1st wife. And the day that I heard the judge say "the mother shall be the custodial parent and children shall reside with her. The father shall have visitation rights every other weekend and holidays." I was reduced to a part time father and all of my dreams, hopes, and aspirations were crushed. And today is the fourth day that I will mourn for as long I shall live. The day that I left my ex wife and the life that I created with her I had packed my car with every meager possession that I owned. I took my clothes, my car, and god damnit I had my comic books. Matter of fact my comic books were worth more than my car was then. My comic books are still worth more than the car I have today. They're worth more than the bicycles I depend on for transportation too. And anybody that knows me can attest to the fact that I spend a lot of money to maintain my bicycles, because I do rely so heavily on them for my health and transportation. You may take the liberty of comparing my relationship with comic books to that of a love affair. Because that is almost what its like for me, it has been an affair that is kind of secret but not really. However I've never educated anybody how deeply I love comic books. I was afraid that they would think that I was being childish and silly for being so obsessed. Every serious relationship I've been involved in since high school and that includes my ex wife and current marriage. I've concealed my abiding love affair with comic books. So that may give you some idea as to how long I've been collecting comic books and what they mean to me, every single one of them. Granted I do not collect like I once did, but I never really stopped our love affair.




I was of the age of 10, I may have been 12 years old. I remember the day so vividly and intimately when my love affair with comic books had begun. My first comic book, was resting on my lap that my mother had just purchased for me at the gift shop of a Seattle hospital. Earlier my mother wanted a bottle of Coca Cola to quench her thirst so we stopped at the gift shop. Little did I know my moment of destiny was going to be realized. As my mothers beverage and other items were being calculated my child eyes had rested upon the one comic book that has determined the events of my life to this very day. When I saw the printed media on the news stand I was entranced and needed to have it. I eagerly grabbed the magazine and I requested that my mother add it amongst her purchases. It was good thing that she complied because I was not going to accept no as an answer. After we had departed from the gift shop my mother and I were sitting in a waiting room anticipating the time when my name would be called for an EKG. My first grade teacher noticed that I would frequently be in a daze. After many doctor appointments and tests I was diagnosed with petty-maul Epilepsy. I was in the hospital that day for one of those numerous procedured. As I was looking through the pages of my new comic book I did not comprehend how so much excitement could be printed upon such the flimsy news print. The pages were leaping up at me and I could identify that a story was unfolding upon my lap. As I my small fingers were thumbing through the printed media I became unaware that there was world beyond the pages of my newly purchased comic book. It was as if everything had come to a complete halt and my tiny boy-hood ears did not register the octaves of the hospital transpiring all around me. It was as if everything in world had stopped and I could not take my eyes away from the pictures that were obviously conveying a story that had been preordained for me to see. My adolescent mind perceived that the events of my life had all been predestined and culminated to the day that I would be sitting in that Seattle hospital waiting room with mother and my comic book. I can still remember the title; it was Ghost Rider series one #3. Or it may have been Alpha Flight #19. I knew then that comic books would occupy a special place in my heart and mind. I was so secure in this knowledge that I knew nothing else would or could ever take its place or even compare. The magnitude to which comic books would enrich and enhance my life I was completely ignorant of.

What a cruel joke the powers that be had played upon me that day. I had my comic book nestled against my tiny lap and I was incapable of reading it. When I was a child my class mates taunted me relentlessly because I did not read very well. My mother refused to read my newly discovered passion that day and every day that proceeded. She always said to me that if I wanted to know what the words were in the bubbles, what the characters were saying, I had to read it for myself. I still have that 1st comic book that my mother purchased for me today. During the commute home I was completely engrossed in my comic book while my mother drove the 36 miles. I immediately retreated to the confines of my bedroom where I spent the remainder of that day sounding out the syllables in every bubble on all the panels and pages. It took me one long frustrating week to read my very 1^st comic book but I did read it eventually and I completed that task all on my own accord. I was informed by mother that if I wanted a new comic book I had to first demonstrate my newly discovered skills which I promptly did. My imagination was expanding as I received three or four new comic books at a time. I escaped to my bedroom which I imagined was my personal Bat Layer. My small mouth repeated the process again when I labored to construct the letters into words that were in the bubbles on all twenty of the pages that contained the elusive story. Over an extended period of time my reading skills improved and I raised my grades from D- to C+ and B-s. Unfortunately the frequent harassment my school mates visited upon me never ceased. After enduring those long days and constant bullying I was subjected to, I would nurture my blossoming relationship with comic books. My collection of printed media that I accrued did not match passionate affection I had for them. I could never bring myself to discard any of my comic books because they were my comic books and mine alone. My father would often trespass in my Bat Layer and take one of my comic books to read while he bathed. The thought of all that moisture collecting upon the pages of MY COMIC BOOKS filled me with rage. I was also jealous of anybody touching my comic books but me. One of the other many gifts I received from my love affair with comic books is that I became an artist myself. I was reading Conan the Barbarian one day while laying on my Bat Bed and as I turned one of the final pages I saw the most incredible pinup that my eyes had ever beheld. I inspected the amazing drawing closely and I was confident that I could draw it. I got a large piece of paper from somewhere and I set my mind to drawing that picture. Over time copied other pictures and my father purchased my 1st real drawing pencil for me that still I have inside of my art supplies today. I've worn it down to barely a nub that is slightly bigger than my 1st knuckle on pinky finger but I kept it. I traded those same drawings with my friends in the neighborhood for a brown bomber leather jacket that was too small for me. Later my friend’s parents saw the drawing and he got in trouble for having satanic pictures and they made him destroy one of 1st drawings (stupid fundies). My pictures that I copied from comic books were hung in my JR High School. The artist that I am today is the direct influence that comic books have had over my life.

Comic books provided me an entry way into separate world that Stan Lee or Bob Kane created. I could ride a silver surf board with the Silver Surfer and deny the will of the planet destroyer called Galactus. Or I could join Conan as he got drunk and womanized. Later when the worshiper of Crom sobered up I would join him as he cleaved the Devourer of Souls down the middle with a battle ax or with the sword of his dead father. When I wanted something on a slightly smaller scale I would join the Micronauts in an alien universe called Microverse and watch as they foiled the latest plan of Baron Karza. For my personal finale I would join Charles Xavier as he sat in his wheelchair and bravely led the X Men on mission to deliver humanity that despised all of mutant kind from a sinister plot that Magneto devised. Every news print page that I turned held either the salvation or the demise of the planet. The 20 page stories that unfolded in front of me were my 1st real love in life. The love affair I had with comic books was my one and only form of escapism that I had. The love I have for comic books is something that I've been nurturing and fostering my entire life. When the tantalizing story I was reading had concluded I knew it would be another 20 days before our flames would be rekindled. Next I would then retreated to the confines of my own alien world that I created with my own pencils and I was the lord over all I surveyed. I alone was god over the characters and landscapes that I sketched and I controlled the fate of everything. I still have those drawings and comic books that I drew and created as teenager.

I feel like I've betrayed my first love. I have a sense that my beloved is sharing our intimate moments right now that were once reserved for me. Those quite moments we spent late at night by the moonlight when nobody was watching us and it was school night and I supposed to be sleeping. I would carefully lick my finger tips with just enough moisture to turn the delicate pages so that I would not stain them or create a bend that would damage fragile newsprint. I am really jealous that somebody else is enjoying the pleasures those pages brought to me. I cannot help but to feel like I have a strong sense of ownership over that, like I have it patented.

So if you read all of that then maybe you’re willing to discover why I sold my beloveds today. My wife has sacrificed so much to make sure that I am going to get the help that I need to gain control of my life from AD/HD. I am not brining in an income and I want to contribute to our home as much as I can. I wanted to give something back to Jenny, and I had this opportunity to do it that for her. Selling some of my prized comic books was the very least that I could do for my wife who has sacrificed so much to make sure that I will get well. I am devoted to my rehabilitation and I am going to do absolutely anything that it takes to insure my success. The sacrifice that I made today and am going to do with the rest of my collection is necessary. This is a fact, SO BE IT.

So be it. I like that. I think that is going to be my new motto for my recovery. “Hey Shane what is needed for your rehabilitation? Anything that is required of me. SO BE IT.

Obama has “Yes We Can!”

I have SO BE IT. I think its kind of catchy in a way.

I just wish that sacrificing something you love a lot that means a lot to you, did not hur t s o incredibly much.