So, Christmas came and went and now the New Year rapidly approaches. Every year, at this time, I take a few moments to reflect on life and what has transpired in my past. This Christmas I got to see my younger brother, who has Down syndrome, and was reminded of a time long ago, when I was a runt living in a new neighborhood and the main target of every bully on the block. Being the new kid usually means suffering through a certain amount of abuse and I was served a heaping helping on a daily basis. Although I had a quick wit and could often talk my way out of trouble, my brother wasn’t so lucky. He knew he was different and people (which includes children and adults) liked to remind him of it constantly by staring, snickering, pointing, laughing or even name-calling. Mongoloid was a term I heard regularly and while I didn’t understand it’s meaning, I was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment. I always ignored it or laughed it off because I wasn’t equipped to do anything else. Then, on a cold day in late December, something changed. A kid down the street named Jerry Crump showed up at our front door. (By the way, that’s his real name and I could care less. He was more mentally deficient than my brother ever could be and he’d probably get aroused by the fact that I just mentioned him so, if you’re reading this, Jerry, I hope your next bowel movement is square! Piss off!) My brother was sitting in the doorway, behind the screen door, doing what he always did; watching the world outside from a distance. It kept him safe and free from ridicule. That is, up until that fateful day. I heard Jerry’s voice from inside my room and hurried to the door. When I arrived I heard him ask my brother repeatedly, “Do you like road apples?” My brother just laughed and I laughed, too. I had no idea what a road apple was and assumed it was a piece of fruit. The mocking eventually stopped, once Jerry got bored, and he left. Later that night I asked my mother what a road apple was and became livid when she told me. I refused to tell her why I was upset and went to my room. I reached inside a dresser drawer and pulled out two of my most prized possessions, which I had received as a Christmas gift two days earlier; Fantastic Four, issue 172 and Superman, issue 301…

These two comic books were my very first and pulled me into a world where the good guys triumphed and the bad guys got what was coming to them. (Always and without question.) They also had something in common that I only realized recently…the protagonists were different. Now, most people would boil down that difference to spandex suits and super powers but I saw something else entirely. You had four people whose bodies’ were transformed by cosmic radiation (I didn’t know that at first. More on that later.) and an alien from the planet Krypton. They weren’t “normal” but they were exceptional…just like my brother. The Thing was my favorite of them all because he was the most different and “clobberin’ time” sounded like a solid solution to my daily torment from other kids. I had to know more about the FF and, luckily, found the following item at a local store…

I listened to that record incessantly, to the point where I ruined it, and my obsession with comic books was born. I pedaled my bike to 7-11 every week, allowance in pocket, to pick up a Slurpee and, more importantly, peruse the comic book rack for new issues. Most kids I knew read stuff like Batman, Captain America and Green Lantern but I was more fascinated with characters who were outcasts, which led me to titles such as; Shang Chi: Master of Kung Fu, Black Panther, Inhumans, The Silver Surfer, Howard the Duck and Prince Namor: The Sub-Mariner.

They also looked very different from those around them and were generally misunderstood, both qualities that my brother shared. I couldn’t get enough of those books and every one I read gave me more confidence and the understanding that not being “normal” was something to be celebrated not ridiculed. I also began to develop a very large chip on my shoulder and promised to never allow anyone to tease me or my brother again. This new attitude even extended to other people, which got me in trouble on several occasions. If I saw someone being harassed, especially if they couldn’t defend themselves, I just snapped! In my mind, I was convinced I was The Hulk because, as I mentioned before, I was tiny but my anger turned me into a snarling beast.

On one particular day in the 3rd grade, I stumbled upon a fight during recess. A 1st grader I knew pretty well was being beaten up by a much larger kid (I later found out he was a 6th grader!). I looked around at the circle of kids that had formed around the skirmish and thought, “What is wrong with all of you?!” My blood began to boil and my gamma-radiated cells (yes, I was a little bit deluded…except for the “little bit” part…) launched me into action. I jumped in, grabbed the smaller boy and moved him away before turning into the…

So, yeah...that is kind of what it looked like when I got on equal ground with the bully and I was not The Hulk in that scenario but I settled for Spiderman. I told him to leave the boy alone and remembered I had no web-shooters before he grabbed the collar of my t-shirt and mumbled something in Cro-Magnon. His warm breath smelled of black licorice and cat ass (I sniffed a cat’s butt on a dare once so, trust me, it’s a very accurate description!) and one of his jagged fingernails was digging into my neck meat. He put his other fist, a scabby ball of fingers that crackled as he clenched, in my face and…HULK SMASH! One knee to the groin and a beat-down-for-the-ages later, I found myself in the principal’s office waiting for my mom to come pick me up. The other kid was in the nurse’s office getting blood transfusions and plastic surgery after the ass-whoopin’ I handed him, while I had nary a scratch on me. The element of surprise is a valuable tool in the fight game, my friends, and that big, dumb thug was my toy after the thunderous nut shot he received. I realized in that moment that I didn’t have to be afraid of anyone ever again, as I was certain it was my last day on Earth. Once my mother, who had to leave work to come get me, showed up it was all over! She arrived, met with the principal and, after hearing the story…defended me! She even told him to never mention the event again or she, accompanied by the 1^st grader’s parents, would be contacting the school board about the unsafe environment being created! On the drive home she told me that if I ever got into a fight at school again it would be my last day on Earth. Lesson learned? Only bitch-slap bullies off-campus…

After that day, I was different. If someone had the nerve to make fun of my brother they were told to stop. If they persisted, I would turn Mr. Fingers into Mr. Fist and plug the offending orifice. My love of comic books also led me to writing and the following Spring I won a contest. My essay about the future was chosen as the best of all the 3rd grade classes and my mom and I got to attend an awards luncheon at a country club. I won another one in 5th grade and have been writing ever since. To think all of it was inspired by some ink on paper and a couple of staples still amazes me but I wouldn’t be who I am today without comic books. (And my parents, of course!) But the one I would like to thank the most is my baby brother, Chad. You’ve taught me life lessons without even trying and are more pure of heart than anyone I know. Love you, bro!

(By the way, I don’t beat people up anymore because that kind of behavior is borderline sociopathic. Well, that is, unless they really, really deserve it…just kidding?)