While my childhood was filled with superheroes, whether they be in Saturday morning cartoon format or action figure format, I never really latched on to comic books. Now don't get me wrong -- my brother had a huge comic book collection so I, of course, spent a good amount of time following his lead by buying up my share of X-Men comics. Truth be told, though, I probably owned about 100 comics at that time and actually read maybe ten of them...at most.
I once traded a copy of G.I. Joe #1 to my brother for a switch-blade comb -- but, believe it or not, that is not the defining moment of my days as a comic collector.
The year was 1984 and my family was visiting my grandmother's house. As we always did on such trips, my brother and I walked to a nearby bookstore where comics were also sold. It was here that I bought a copy of Iceman #1 before walking across the street to a small park where my brother and I sat at a table to check out our newest purchases.
Disinterested in the comic itself, I sat looking at an ad for the upcoming line-up of Saturday morning cartoons. At this moment, from a branch just over my head, a bird decided to poop squarely on my comic. As I wiped the pages on the grass, my brother mocked me mercilessly.
So there it is, folks. When I look back at my childhood and I think about comic books, I don't think about the exciting stories or the detailed artwork or the fascinating characters.
I think about bird poop.
[Be sure to check out some of the other comic book topics from around the League.]