Ominous words from my teenage daughter
gives this geek-Dad pause.
The
setting: Phoenix Comicon 2013, Phoenix, Arizona. My now annual visit to
the fusion of cosplay, comics and chaos that is Comicon was in full
sway. I make every effort o insure each of the
imperial prodigy (my children namely) get to visit on a "sidekick pass"
every year. On a Sunday
afternoon, sharing the main hall with roughly 30,000 other local
Geek-culture aficionados, my daughter turned to me and says "you did
this to us." I was stunned.
"What do you mean sweetheart?" I ask.
"You
made us like this stuff," she replied. She was being glib but still, my response was a clear,
resounding "you're welcome."
Hey kid, all I did was expose you to a
world where your imagination is encouraged to roam free,
a forum where any story you connect with–or have in you–can be shown
the love and nurturing all creative pursuits need to thrive.
Comicon
is one of the truest expressions of love I have ever come across.
Everyone who attends is there to have a good time, free of the ridicule
that often comes from "normal people" when we are expressing love for something
to we connect with or doing something we care passionately for–like ready, writing or
drawing comic books, graphic novels, building replicas of fictional vessels, video games, TV shows and movies.
It's
Woodstock for geeks. I have seen many of the great Cons; New York
Comicon, Boston (my hometown), Phoenix, AZ Comicon (yes they're
different) and of course, the coveted San Diego Comicon.
At age
45, I am a lifelong fan-boy. I will be gaming in my 70's. Writing,
reading and drawing comics until my last moments. The stories, the art
the wonder of watching the normal become the fantastic–it's the kind of appreciation I can only begin to describe.
My
favorite scene; a newswoman from a local Phoenix TV news group was
there to 'cover the freak show' (not their words but you know that's
what she was thinking). This corporately professional
reporter, say late 20's, was in standard professional attire; skirt,
heels, blouse, modest make-up and attractive hairstyle. The person she
was interviewing? A 6-foot warrior-woman, 18" blonde mowhawk with pink tips, a bustier made of
faux battle armor (a 'breast-plate' if you will),
a shield, arm-bands, gauges and a gold bikini bottom with a sword and
gold combat boots.
The look
on the newsgirl's face was priceless. Her life clearly gave her NO
frame of reference for embracing or processing what this woman in front
of her represented. I couldn't help but smile.
So to my
daughter I say, you're welcome. I've exposed you to at least one place
that is practically void of ridicule and loaded with people as
passionate as your Dad–and perhaps, one day–you
will be, too.
And in doing so, you will never be alone.
