With Infinite Crisis on the horizon, and all the talk about how it relates to the original Crisis, I felt nostalgic and wanted to share this story.
Last year at my mother's 60th birthday party, everyone was asked to tell a story about her. I don't think anyone got why I told this story, but it's one of my fondest of my mother.
August, 1985.
My little sister and I had spent three months in West Virgina. We had been up in the mountains, living with our grandparents and uncles. There were no arcades, malls, or fast food restaurants. There was a general store, a church, and a school. There were maybe 30 houses in the whole town my family had lived in for generations. They owned three of them and one was pretty much demolished. The only comics in town were the ones I brought with me from Kansas.
When my mom came to pick us up at the end of the summer, I was ready to go home and return to comic book stores and video games. I was happy to see her, and she hugged me and gave me something. Crisis on Infinite Earths #7 and #8.
I had been collecting Crisis since it came out. I took my copies everywhere I went, because I knew at that young age that they were IMPORTANT. How important, I didn't really know, but I kept them with me anyway. Getting those two issues immediately made me even happier. I sat down read the issues while my grandparents talked with my mom. Crisis #7 told the tale of the heroic death of Supergirl, who laid down her life to save her cousin and the other heroes who had been fighting the Anti-Monitor on his home ground. Seeing Kara die and Superman weep hit me hard. I loved Superman as much as I did Jesus back then. Batgirl's eulogy for Kara was particularly moving. Crisis #8 featured the death of Barry Allen, who was my father's favorite super-hero. It was sad to see him go, but his death had some dignity to it. He been victimized by the Psycho-Pirate for what seemed like a long time to me, and finally being able to do what he did best was a fine send-off.
Those two issues were the first to show me that comics didn't have to be just entertaining, but inspirational as well. That alone made that day memorable. Years years later, I realized that I had never told her that I wanted those comics. She had gotten them on her own, going to a comics shop and finding the issues I wanted. My mother had been paying attention, and she cared enough to give me something that I would cherish forever.
Last year at my mother's 60th birthday party, everyone was asked to tell a story about her. I don't think anyone got why I told this story, but it's one of my fondest of my mother.
August, 1985.
My little sister and I had spent three months in West Virgina. We had been up in the mountains, living with our grandparents and uncles. There were no arcades, malls, or fast food restaurants. There was a general store, a church, and a school. There were maybe 30 houses in the whole town my family had lived in for generations. They owned three of them and one was pretty much demolished. The only comics in town were the ones I brought with me from Kansas.
When my mom came to pick us up at the end of the summer, I was ready to go home and return to comic book stores and video games. I was happy to see her, and she hugged me and gave me something. Crisis on Infinite Earths #7 and #8.
I had been collecting Crisis since it came out. I took my copies everywhere I went, because I knew at that young age that they were IMPORTANT. How important, I didn't really know, but I kept them with me anyway. Getting those two issues immediately made me even happier. I sat down read the issues while my grandparents talked with my mom. Crisis #7 told the tale of the heroic death of Supergirl, who laid down her life to save her cousin and the other heroes who had been fighting the Anti-Monitor on his home ground. Seeing Kara die and Superman weep hit me hard. I loved Superman as much as I did Jesus back then. Batgirl's eulogy for Kara was particularly moving. Crisis #8 featured the death of Barry Allen, who was my father's favorite super-hero. It was sad to see him go, but his death had some dignity to it. He been victimized by the Psycho-Pirate for what seemed like a long time to me, and finally being able to do what he did best was a fine send-off.
Those two issues were the first to show me that comics didn't have to be just entertaining, but inspirational as well. That alone made that day memorable. Years years later, I realized that I had never told her that I wanted those comics. She had gotten them on her own, going to a comics shop and finding the issues I wanted. My mother had been paying attention, and she cared enough to give me something that I would cherish forever.
