Father reads comic to child because Mother wasn't around to stop the insanity

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.