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Growing up with superheroes
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I suspect my father thought I was wasting my time – and pocket money – reading comics. I mean, what on earth can one learn from Spider-Man, other than don’t get bitten by a radioactive spider unless you want to spend the rest of your life wearing tight Spidey PJs under your work clothes? But Peter Parker, aka Spider-Man, would stash his clothes in a web somewhere high up on a building, then swing around in his tight PJs from nifty webs he shot from his wrists while beating the living daylights out of the baddies. I thought that was pretty cool. Comics fuelled my childhood imagination. But I didn’t just read about superheroes. I also loved the Archie comics about teenagers in Middle America. Their lives were far removed from my pre-teen existence in late-70s South Africa, but I devoured these comic tales nonetheless (it’s not as if we had South African alternatives). I remember, with a tinge of embarrassment, insisting that my parents call me Jughead at one point. He was Archie’s best mate and a bit of an oddball who wore a weird felt crown-hat and could consume unusually large quantities of food without getting sick or gaining weight. That’s almost a superpower, come to think of it. The comics I pored over as a boy were a far cry from literary masterpieces, but they got me reading. And I was never bored. It was also really easy to buy birthday and Christmas presents for me – you could just throw in an annual and I’d be over the moon.
Comics are not nearly as prolific today – we have TV now. But our children still have a wonderful ability to express themselves through imaginative play. Apparently, this can boost their brain power and help them concentrate for longer. I didn’t quite make it to rocket scientist level, but at least I still love to read.
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