fiscal restraint and parental involvement were
while I was away (at around age 6)
Mom appeared once more with large black
trash bags, this time making me assist the process.
marred in the least was discarded. From the closet
stuffed into the bags. Part of me understood
that they wanted to have a little boy like everyone
this assault would take away the joy that I did have.
played with my toys and comics until they disintegrated.
Condition meant nothing to me; they were counseling
tools, not collectibles.
to have their 'place,' to be pristine. Her OCD
to clear out my home of 'clutter' in earnest waves of mania.
In rebellion, I have given way to a pack-rat mentality,
a gypsy-like need to recycle everything, saving and even
acquiring items long past the point of having any value left.)
were emotional investments. The iconic characters were my
substitute friends...talsimen of psychological relief from
countless past and then-present abuses.
Tonic for soothing, medicinal use.
The serial nature of the comic tales, and long histories of the
and dependability that was lacking at home.
tendencies related to toys and comics (including no longer buying
me certain types, giving more away, selling them at yard sales,
storing them in the unreachable attic, etc) never deterred
my interest in fantasy and comics. If anything,
Never have, never will, and I don't fake it well, either.
entertaining myself with things I
more than content now.
and self-contained is a bonus, not a hindrance.