Childish Things

“Genius is nothing more than childhood recaptured at will, childhood equipped now with man's physical means to express itself, and with the analytical mind that enables it to bring order into the sum of experience, involuntarily amassed.” - Charles Baudelaire

My memories begin in Germany. I was born there. Except for a year in California which I don’t remember, I lived in Germany until I was seven years old. My father was in the U.S. Air Force, stationed at Ramstein Air Base. He’s from New York. My mother is from Frankfurt. There was a year when my mother and I lived with my grandfather while my father was stationed in Greenland. When my father returned we moved into base housing. The kids in the neighborhood were from all over the U.S. We usually played in the wooded area behind our apartment buildings, acting out our favorite TV shows. We would run through woods shouting and having crazy adventures. We played a lot of Star Trek. It would be awhile before phaser and tricorder toys would be released. The right fallen tree branch, broken just the right way, made a pretty good type II phaser. It was all about getting the phaser grip angle just right.

The older kids had the coolest toys. The younger kids and I often watched them as they set up elaborate G.I. Joe dioramas in the playground. These were the 12-inch Joes, pre-Adventure Team. They also built awesome plastic model kits that we got to check out sometimes. One thing we all had in common though, were comic books. We all read comic books.

When a kid found out he was was about to move back to the States, he would pass on his comics to someone in the neighborhood. After awhile I had a pretty good collection going. I kept them stuffed in the bottom drawer of a dresser. A lot of them were in rough condition. They were read a lot. The drawer was full, but the only two I specifically remember are THUNDER Agents #7, with No-Man falling from a plane towards gangsters in a car, and Captain Action #1, with Captain Action holding a panther on a leash, pushing Superman out of the way. I’m pretty sure I had other issues of those titles as well. Years later I would put names to the creators. Wally Wood and Gil Kane stood out and are two of my favorite comic book artists to this day.

One day I found out that my father had gotten new orders. We were going to move to the U.S. and I was told that I couldn’t bring my comic books. It was my turn to pass on my collection. I remember sulking at the airport, complaining about having to leave my comics behind.

We moved to a small town in Georgia. I started at the new school and got settled. One summer vacation my mother and I returned to Germany to visit my grandfather. We stayed with him in his apartment, the same place we lived for a year while my father was stationed in Greenland. There was a small toy chest in the room I slept in. Inside I found an old comic book. It was an issue of Sgt. Fury and His Howling Commandos. Memories washed over me. The characters and the art were so familiar. It was like finding buried treasure and reconnecting with an old friend at the same time.

As a child I loved adventure shows, toys, and comics. Like most kids I ran around yards acting out adventures. I’m so much older now but those childish things have stayed with me. I don’t run around backyards anymore but do I keep thinking of stories. The difference now is that I want to organise them, write them down, and find out where they lead.

Next: A Writing Exercise

Three Men in Therapy: A Writing Exercise

    “Gentlemen. Come in. Have a seat,” the therapist said motioning towards the sofa.

    Three men walked into the office in single file. The first two plopped onto the sofa. The third one walked past the the sofa and sat down in an armchair.

    “Let’s begin, shall we?” the therapist said.

    “Sure. These two are fucking idiots,” said the man in the armchair. “Wow. That felt good. Thanks for this. It really helped.” He stood up.

    The therapist smiled. “Things come easy for you, don’t they?” Without waiting for a response he continued. “Please,” he said motioning to the armchair with an open palm. “You just arrived. Give me a chance before you rush out.”

    The man rolled his eyes and sat down.

    “Now, I understand that there are some hard feelings between you gentlemen.”

     This time the two men on the sofa stood up.

    “Hard feelings? Hard feelings?” said the shorter of the two. “We almost died.”

    “Yeah and who’s fault was that, I wonder?” said the man in the armchair looking up at the two standing men.

     “Seriously?” said the taller of the two. “How the hell were we supposed to know? You tell me. How?”

    The man in the sofa sighed. “Oh, I don’t know. Common sense maybe?”

    “This is bullshit man. We were just trying to live our lives,” said the shorter man.

    “Gentlemen. Please. Let’s take a closer look at that, shall we? Sit, sit,” said the therapist.      

    The two men sat back down.

    “You say you that you were just trying to live your lives. There are responsibilities associated with that, wouldn’t say? How much planning did you do beforehand?” The two men broke eye contact. Looked down at their feet.

    “Diddly squat. That’s how much fucking planning they did,” said the man in the armchair. “They put no thought into it. Just  “la di da” and we’re done. Then all hell breaks loose, and what do they do? They come crying and screaming to me for help.”

    The two men shifted on the sofa uncomfortably.

    “Not only did I put thought into living my life,” the man in the armchair said, “I put in the time and the effort.”

     “Because of that,” he said pointing to the two men on the couch, “I was able to do what I did. Save your shiny pink asses. His finger moved forward with each word.

     The taller man held his face in his hands. The shorter man was trembling as he spoke, “What the hell do you want from us?”

     “Well, that is why we’re all here now, isn’t it?” said the therapist.

     The man in the armchair stood up again. “I don’t want shit from these two losers. I just want to get the fuck out of here.”

    “Now is that anyway to talk about family?” the therapist said. The man sighed and sat back down.

    “Everything comes easy for you,” said the therapist. “Quick to catch on. Quick to make a decision. Always the right decisions. You planned and prepared extremely well where they, well did piss poorly. Have some patience.”

    The two men had questioning looks on their faces.

    “After the two of you were saved, what did you say?” asked the therapist.

    The two men looked at each other and then looked at the therapist.

     “Nothing,” said the shorter man.

    “We said nothing,” said the the taller man,

    The room was silent. The man in the armchair looked straight ahead, not looking at anything in particular.

    The therapist and the two men looked at each other. The therapist glanced at the man in the armchair, then looked back at the two men. The therapist shrugged.

    “We never…” said the shorter man.

    “...said thank you.” finished the taller man. “We never said thank you for saving our lives.”

    “Yeah,” the man in the armchair whispered as he looked away.

    “Thank you,” the two men said in unison.

    The man in the armchair stood up. The two men stood up. They looked and the therapist. He nodded.

    “Whatever. Come on. Let’s get the hell out of here,” the man who had been sitting in the armchair said. The two men hesitated. The man by the armchair motioned with his hand and said, “Come on, let’s go.” The three men went through the door.

    “‘Grass? Sticks? Really?” Said the man who had been sitting in the armchair. “What were you two knuckleheads thinking?”

    The door closed behind him. The therapist smiled.

Afterword:

The exercise here was to have characters from a folk tale or fairy tale talking to a therapist about their lives and problems, and for the therapist to arrive at a diagnosis. I played around with it a little and changed the characters into men. Not sure how successful I was but it sure was a fun.

Next: Comic Books and Childish Things