How I Got Into Comics

by John W. Parrish

It was the smooth voice of Keith David that opened me up to the world of comics, but in truth—the seeds had been planted long before. And, I don’t just mean growing up as a short, introspective outsider type. I first remember encountering comics at my great-grandfathers barbershop. He was that old-school, straight razor barber and he came over to the United States by himself from Italy when he was still a young teenager, and one of the ways he taught himself English literacy was through the comic books, which he kept scattered across his shop. Decades later, he continued buying them from the newspaper stands so that there’d be something to keep the kids distracted while scissors danced around them. Some of my earliest memories were of being in his shop (and adjoined house) and exploring the seemingly endless and ancient stairs. It was here that I read my first comic book, either Web of Spider-Man #51, 53 or Spectacular Spider-Man #152. The cover showed Spider-Man, a character I was already familiar with, being attacked by a feral werewolf. My father, quickly pulled the comic away because it terrifying and tried to push some more appropriate books (Archie? Bugs Bunny?) towards me. But my attention was already fixed on the book that I couldn’t have. I didn’t even look at what handed to me, and plotted the entire time during my haircut, on just how I’d read that comic.

Part of my attachment towards superheroes stems back to Kindergarten, where my mother was reading me a prayer that referenced the End of the World. I was taken aback by this, as it was the first time I had encountered this concept. I immediately started crying, asking “Why does God want all of us to die, why would he kill us?”. My Irish Catholic (for all intents and purposes) mother, really couldn’t answer that and simply said “this won’t happen for a very long time, after we are all dead”, which prompted more tears. I remember my father, coming home from his night classes and saving the day, by giving me a hug, sitting me down and saying “You know how Superman left Krypton in his rocket ship? Well, that’s what happened, the Apocalypse happened on Krypton and he escaped. So, if Doomsday ever comes, that’s what we’ll do, we will leave earth”. Images of Superman vs. The Apocalypse, taking on demons, while the human race escaped God’s Wrath on spaceships tied together the ideas of superheroes and religion in my young head

This story my father told me, helped me cultivate an irreverent curiosity towards the faith; for to me it was not one sacred story that would be forever unalterable. Being Catholic and a pop culture junkie led me obsess over more esoteric aspects of the faith, such as relics and to try and have fun with the typically stuffy nature of church life. For example, I often said that I wanted to be a priest, not because any devotional faith, but because I wanted to exercise demons and slay vampires. The other reason, being primarily—the realization that eventually I’d have to get a job like my father (a VP for a Bank) or be nice to people all day for a living. Keeping this framework in mind, it all came to a head when I was to be confirmed. I saw the saints as superheroes, and I tried finding the saint with the most “badass” story. I was confused when I was told that I couldn’t use St. Christopher (because I found a picture where he had the head of a dog and I’d found an article that said he may have not even existed), nor St. Denis (who carried his severed head around), no female saints (who often had the most brutal deaths), not even that “Flying Friar” St. Joseph of Cupertino. The priest had to have a talk with me, when I was quoted as saying that “I wanted to find the Saint with the best superpowers”. Due to my attitude, I was forced to “choose” St. John, The Apostle—and was discouraged after finding out John of Patmos (the apocalyptic visionary) and John the Baptist (the grizzled honey and locust connoisseur) were apparently reserved for Jonathans.

Even though I saw saints as natural extensions of superheroes (and not the other way around), I really didn’t have anything to do with superheroes in regards to the pop culture of the 90s. I typically found them boring and really didn’t have any strong attachment throughout the decade, other than watching the X-Men cartoon and owning a few issues of Valiant Comics, The Death of Superman, Rocket Raccoon and assorted “grab bag” collections that were popular at the time. In retrospect, however, it’s funny in that some of my most vivid memories of my youthful possessions come from those comics—those images stick in my mind better than any book I read, video game I played or movie I had seen.

Because I went to a private Catholic grade school, my transition to a new public high school was a bit tough. As a short, introverted and awkward teenager, I quickly learned to make friends by learning to be quick-witted and finding odd, interesting and memorable topics to have with people. I was always reading weird books (Umberto Eco’s Focault’s Pendulum) or watching weird movies. I eventually came across a bootleg copy of Alejandro Jodorowsky’s El Topo and the Holy Mountain, who quickly became my favorite director. It was a hell of an affectation, at the very least. I was an atypical nerd (at least for my school); I didn’t read much sci-fi, I didn’t play video games, I didn’t watch anime, no one even read comics. I was a film nerd, I idolized Orson Welles, Martin Scorsese, Paul Schrader, Roman Polanski, Francis Ford Coppola, Robert Evans and the newer guys like Quentin Tarantino, Danny Boyle and Kevin Smith. It’s cringe worthy looking back, but I only read books that I thought people would be impressed with.

I didn’t even think of superheroes or comics for several years until I was waiting to be picked up after Tae Kwon Do during my sophomore year of high school. My mother was running late and so I went to the nearby Dollar Post. There, I found some really old surplus books—including a Comico edition of Mage: The Hero Discovered Vol. 3. I was obviously coming late into story, but the portrayal of timeless and perennial human ideals initially led me, not to comics—but comparative mythology and the works of Joseph Campbell.

Two years pass—and then I hear Keith David’s dreamy voice serenade me into watching a documentary called “Comic Book Superheroes Unmasked”. I was intrigued and drawn in; and then within five minutes I immediately distanced myself. The documentary started with a segment on “The Watchmen”, one of the magnum opuses of comics. The interest that had been welling up inside of me, was popped-as this masterwork's emotionally charged ending was spoiled in front of my eyes, and the punch-line of ultimate superhero stories laid impotent at my feet. I was heavily discouraged from picking up a comic book, due to having one of the pivotal works of the medium spoiled—it wouldn’t be until I had graduated college and overcame vast amounts of social awkwardness that I’d fall hard for the medium.

During college, I quickly found that I couldn’t maintain reading the highbrow and non-genre books I was accustomed to, due to my classwork. In addition, my school’s movie selection was extremely limited. I had an active social life, but as an introvert—I needed periods of time just to myself. As luck would have it, I would be forced to take a public speaking class, which helped me finally vanquish some of the poor social skills I had honed so well in high school. Also the public speaking course let me talk about whatever I wanted—which often included film. During research on development hell (a term in the film industry, in regards to unproduced screenplays) I found out that Jodorowsky, a director who had always struggled to have his films made and produced was significantly more prolific in the medium of comics. I immediately discovered Ebay and ordered The Metabarons, which blew me away with its art, high concepts and genuine absurdity. I came in right at the time, Marvel’s 1602 series by Neil Gaiman was wrapping up and Marvel was just announcing Civil War. Once I experienced those, I never looked back. I would go one to spend more than $1,000 that semester on comic books via e-bay, and would discover the works of Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, Grant Morrison, Peter Milligan, and others. During a bout of depression, Flex Mentallo became my “Dave Foster Wallace Kenyon Commencement Speech”. it helped me get through my master’s program.

Now, I sit in an apartment sitting mostly naked, covered in paint, surrounded by those issues of Web of Spider-Man #51 and 53, pictures of idealized forms (some of them superheroes), with me trying to chat up the New Gods, as per the instruction of Grant Morrison and some hot internet friend you had. Comics will fuck you up. If you let them.