Cold and rainy in the Emerald City today. Dark too. There was nothing for a grown man to do but read comic books and stay indoors. I am Marvel man. I started reading comic books in grade school. Because my hearing was poor, along with my seating placement at the back of the class (due to where my last name fell in the alphabet), I struggled early on and was regularly in the remedial reading group. Then, thanks to my cousins, I discovered the joys of comic books. And in the space of one summer between the third and fourth grades I went from the bottom to the top reading group. Thanks to comic books.
I started reading them again as my last relationship was beginning to disintegrate. I had pinned a lot of hopes on that relationship. White man. Black woman. I believed fervently in the idea of being together. But the reality turned out to be abysmal (see Chaucer's "The Merchant's Tale").
I think I was looking for some bedrock to lay my head on. I needed to tap into the heroes of my youth. Comic books fit the bill.
On the wall in my kitchen are cover scans of Black Panther's historic Bronze Age run in Jungle Action.