Squee

Given my previous post about Archie comics, I thought I'd share this nice little stash of 70's era digests that arrived in the mail today.

Scheme Supreme

Much to my surprise, this turns out to be the summer that my youngest child discovered Archie comics. One minute, I'm worried about his getting enough reading practice this summer, the next he's gleefully raced his way through 5 double digests with no sign of stopping.

Obviously I'm not one of those parents who think comic books are substandard material for teaching kids to read. Quite the contrary - I've been impressed by the speed at which his comprehension of even difficult words has improved. Anyway, I experienced it myself when I was just about his age.

I can even remember the moment it happened.

It was the night before Easter, and we were spending the holiday with my seaside cousins, which was always a thrill. Their house was very quiet at night, though, much more quiet than my own, and I despaired of ever falling asleep. My cousin was snoring away in the next bed so she was no help at all. On her bookshelf I spied a Jughead Jones digest - it was a bit worn and no doubt appropriated from her dad's bedside table (and really, if a chemical engineer like her dad could read comics, then who could find fault?) I opened it up and began to read a story called "Scheme Supreme."

I hardly knew who Jughead was or why all the girls in town were plotting against him, but the idea of a secret society (The United Girls Against Jughead or U.G.A.J.) laying out complex plans to prevent the spread of his anti-romance ways was very compelling. Even if the plans were a massive failure and by todays' standards, definitely not politically correct.

The eternal allure of the unobtainable man

Most of all, I liked the idea of the unobtrusively-placed red thumbtack that signals the meeting. Even at 7 years old I was fascinated with signs and signals. 

At any rate, I fell in love in love with Archie comics, and with Jughead and Betty especially (seriously, wouldn't they have been the best couple?) and they kept me company during those grim years at elementary school when I felt utterly alone.

For my son's part, he's thrilled to learn that Archie has been around for 80 years. This means he has 80 years worth of comics to read.

Now at least one of my kids will appreciate inheriting  my ridiculously huge comics collection one day.

Februrary Musings

February is the time of year I'm most drawn to seek sustenance from familiar comforts. Maybe it's the feeling (left over from schooldays, perhaps) of being the dead zone of the year, a grey month punctuated with embossed foil artificiality.  Maybe it's because it was always around this time that my mother would go on a tear (a special, rage-at-the-whole-world sort of tear) making my already busted home life that much more wretched. It doesn't really matter, I suppose; just that when times are hard, people seek solace where they can. 

At the time I'm thinking of, I was an unfortunately tall and ungraceful girl stuck in that phase of puberty that seemed to go on forever, lonely and with few friends. It was also at this time, thanks to an offhand remark by a teacher, that my mother decided I should be a fashion model. Ho Ho. It seems like a cruel joke, but in retrospect, I suppose I should be grateful. Thanks to this, I was left alone to wander the malls of the city after our junior board fashion shows and Sunday supplement photos, which was probably the best part of being 11. 

Of course, being 11, the Hallmark shop drew me like a fly. It was even better than Spencer's (where you could get electric blue mascara and fiber-optic lamps). At that time, it was the only place that stocked Sanrio products,  which evoked a level of cute that made even me feel small and girlish.

It was usually only the more advantaged girls at school who had access to the such adorableness (you knew a popular girl had a made a mistake on her social studies test when you smelled the heady scent of strawberry or bubblegum eraser). I was never one of those girls, but patience and careful use of my pocket money bought a small and secret entrance into the world of cute. 

Even if I never felt I truly belonged, it was some solace to imagine this sweet and tiny girl-world, some Hello Kitty land where nothing bad could ever really happen. I decorated my copy of A Little Princess with stickers and carried it around everywhere, even if I related more to Becky the scullery maid than to Sarah Crewe. They were like talismans, really. Some charm signifying an existence I wished to understand. 

My other main solace (and one maybe more true to my personality) was comic books. Not superhero comics - that was my brother's thing. None of that muscle-y guy in tights business for me. Unless it was Captain Hero. Riverdale, USA was another safe haven. Wacky, but safe. And Jughead, dear Jughead, was my guide. Betty was cool, too, but  Jughead's almost Zen weirdness was an inspiration. 

I knew Jughead. I was Jughead. Just a girl and not so lazy (or gluttonous).

Witness this classic, drawn by my favorite, Samm Schwartz::

See? Not even being kidnapped by a religious cult phases him very much. His main complaint is that their god's name is Harold. Who couldn't get behind a guy like that? 

My treasured collection of double-digests helped me embrace my inner weirdness, which is a good thing, 'cos there's just no escaping your true nature. 

Which, by the way, will be the subject of the next post.