I read a story arc that as much traumatized me as it did open my eyes. I was either 10 or 11 when I got to read it, and at that age like most kids the heroes you looked up to were immortal. They never died, they always prevailed, and they always rode off into the sunset. Batman back then and still is one of my all time favorite characters and it was in the Jim Starlin penned pages of a ‘Death in the Family’ that my father kept in his trunk of comics, my hero worship and my very beliefs were shook to the core.  Robin was on the trail of the mother he had lost touch with years before. Not listening to Batmans advice, Robin, with an overwhelming sense of duty to his mother, ran straight into the lions den. His mother had betrayed him, through no fault of her own, to the most twisted of Bat-villains, The Joker. Alone, with no back up coming, Robin was at the mercy of a madman. There are a series of panels of The Joker beating Robin with a crowbar, and I don’t mean once or twice either. A relentless beating that leaves the boy wonder in a bloody mess, The Joker laughing all the way, leaves Robin to spend his final moments with his mother, both of them trapped in a room rigged with explosives. Before Robin can drag his broken body to the door in an attempt to free himself the place blows skyhigh. So after all this goes down, you the reader are then forced to watch Batman arrive too late and carry Robin’s lifeless body from the burning rubble. Even thinking back on the first time I read that still leaves me in awe. Batman, a hero, protector of those who cannot protect themselves, had failed. The Joker, the personification of evil, had won. That moment, at the tender of age 10 is when I understood death.  High-res

I read a story arc that as much traumatized me as it did open my eyes. I was either 10 or 11 when I got to read it, and at that age like most kids the heroes you looked up to were immortal. They never died, they always prevailed, and they always rode off into the sunset. Batman back then and still is one of my all time favorite characters and it was in the Jim Starlin penned pages of a ‘Death in the Family’ that my father kept in his trunk of comics, my hero worship and my very beliefs were shook to the core. 

Robin was on the trail of the mother he had lost touch with years before. Not listening to Batmans advice, Robin, with an overwhelming sense of duty to his mother, ran straight into the lions den. His mother had betrayed him, through no fault of her own, to the most twisted of Bat-villains, The Joker. Alone, with no back up coming, Robin was at the mercy of a madman. There are a series of panels of The Joker beating Robin with a crowbar, and I don’t mean once or twice either. A relentless beating that leaves the boy wonder in a bloody mess, The Joker laughing all the way, leaves Robin to spend his final moments with his mother, both of them trapped in a room rigged with explosives. Before Robin can drag his broken body to the door in an attempt to free himself the place blows skyhigh.

So after all this goes down, you the reader are then forced to watch Batman arrive too late and carry Robin’s lifeless body from the burning rubble. Even thinking back on the first time I read that still leaves me in awe. Batman, a hero, protector of those who cannot protect themselves, had failed. The Joker, the personification of evil, had won. That moment, at the tender of age 10 is when I understood death. 

My mom is trying.

She never understood the whole “comic” thing. I’d get lectured all the time for using all my spare time working on my what seems to be taking forever graphic novel instead of working on my masters degree or something equally as important in her eyes that I should be using that spare time for. Its this constant battle with her. But to be fair, my father doesn’t get it either, but unlike her, he just doesn’t say anything. Okay, he calls me his 12 year old son, but thats it. 

I went to breakfast over at her house and she hands me the arts section of the Washington Post. “Saw this thought you might like it, you like Astro Boy right?” she asked while shuffling through the kitchen. I told her yeah, grabbed the paper and went to sit down at the table. I’m actually not into Astro Boy at all, and its more Manga than anything, but It was the first time she ever made the effort in that direction. It meant a lot to me. The gesture to save something that wasn’t a job listing, or an academic pamphlet, meant a lot to me. She’ll probably still never understand, but hopefully this won’t continue being a battle royale further down the road. 

Life Lesson #4: Paths

Theres two paths we get to choose to walk down. The path society designed for us and you customized, and the path you designed for yourself from scratch. There comes these certain points where both of these paths become parallel to each other, where both sides take a glimpse at what’s really going on at the opposite end. And no matter how content, happy, and engaged we are with our current choice, for a brief moment you long for the path you didn’t choose. It’s not because you’re unsatisfied with what you have going for you, it’s just you start to think about the possibility of being completely different. Different will always seem exciting. 

For me, different is settling down. Focusing on a career, not a job. Thinking about starting a family, and start dating people with the potential of helping me run a family instead of helping me run away from family. I love where i’m at in my life, truly I do. I love having the ability to up and leave whenever I choose and having my only dependent being a dog. I enjoy the low maintenance of my life, and the fact that I can pack up the entirety of it in one suitcase and a backpack. But lately, especially after I turned twenty-five, whenever the month of my birthday ticks around, both paths show themselves. And like every time, different.. seems exciting. I start wondering about jumping trails. 

I never do of course. Because as I stated before, I love where i’m at. That doesn’t mean i’ll love where i’ll be later on though. People progressively change, and so do our wants. And I think that’s okay. It’s okay to switch what you want to do and what path you end up following. It doesn’t make you a sell out, a conformist, an idealist, and any other “ist” word you replace it with. One isn’t more noble than the other. Just be happy you’re around each day to decide and continue down whatever path you choose. You’re not giving up if you switch, and you’re not mundane if you stay where you are.