I cannot remember the first comic I ever bought. Maybe it was that DC Blue Ribbon Digest of Weird Western Tales and the cover of Jonah Hex toasting in the desert sun. I wish I still had it. I read it until it was beat, bent, and nearly broke. But darn if I didn't read it from start to finish everytime I picked it up.
This evening, in between dinner and taking care of my mum-in-law, I took turns reading with my daughter, Maddie, from the following comic that she had pulled from a short-box:
Honestly, I have no idea the names of all four turtles. There's Michelangelo, Donatello, and, uh, well...it gets worse because I can't tell them apart, either, even though they are coded by the color of their masks. But you know, she laughed. She read. She enjoyed the kid-friendly pratfalls and goofiness of the turtles battling thieves and robots.
I don't care (much) that the condition of the comic went from a Very Fine to a Fine during our reading. By next week, it'll be a Fine- and in a month, she'll probably ignore it as it lays unattended on the couch. But it won't matter because tonight, we had fun. In those few minutes, I'd like to think that I gave her a memory important enough to have and cherish. And know that her old man had time for her. Even if it was with a comic book.
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