So not too long ago I was at my girlfriend’s house for a little family get together, her mom, dad, sister, sister’s boyfriend, her grandma, her uncle and her cousins were there. Her cousins are teenagers now, the youngest being 13, and whenever I talk to them I can’t help but think about how old I must seem to them. Even at only 24 there’s a huge pop-cultural gap between us. The youngest is the one I seem to spend the whole time with, he’s a burgeoning pop culture aficionado, more hardcore gamer than anything else, but still a love for super heroes, sci-fi, and movies are all there. We have a great time talking about all kinds of movies, TV shows, and comics, but on this one particular night, I was flabbergasted as I had never been before. Flabbergasted (which by the way is actually IN spell-check) and horrified, not in him so much as just in the question itself and what it may mean for this new generation and the state of things in general. He asked me “do they still make comics?” Let that sink in for a moment…done? I hope your brain is still nestled warmly in your skull because at that moment my brain opened my head like a lid, packed up its things in a suitcase, grabbed his fedora and coat off the coat rack and stepped out the door. I couldn’t believe it. Is this the world we’re living in? Are kids seeing and loving these super hero flicks, never being aware that there are comic books being produced AS WE SPEAK with these beloved characters?

We, as geeks, have entered into somewhat of a golden age where a comic book movie can be nominated for an Oscar. Where an actor like Robert Downey Jr. can make a phenomenal comeback in the film industry as a man with a robo-suit used to beat up bad guys. Naturally, but perhaps naively, of me I thought that these movies were introducing the younger generations to the marvelous world of comic books. But here we are – “do they still make comics?” This question weighing on my mind like a bloated Fin Fang Foom after Thanksgiving dinner. He proceeded to tell me that though he liked Batman, he’d never actually read a Batman comic. Not a one. This kid had never read an actual, honest to Krom Batman comic. This is just plain and simply WRONG. I don’t know how else to say it more bluntly than it just being wrong. For a kid who when he’s older will get over the awkwardness of teen-hood and embrace his love of all things geek, I can’t think of anything sadder than not once delving into the gothic world of THE BAT. Not once holding a fresh adventure of the dark knight in your hands, experiencing that ever so finite seven to ten minutes of bliss when you sit down with your latest issue in hand.

Now, I’m not here to give you a list of the top 5 best comics, or the top 20 writers, or the best artists of 2009 or anything like that. I’m simply here to tell about love. About something more than a hobby or some sort of hip new trend. As a man who reads comics and waits patiently for his new issues to arrive, I’m here to tell you about the experience, the heartache, and the love that goes into reading comic books. It’s something that requires patience and time, money and happiness, disappointment and at times frustration. Perhaps I’m being dramatic about a medium that stars a man who flies around in his underpants, but it’s a medium that carries with it such depth in storytelling I dare you to find anywhere else. A single comic book can have a story that spans years or even decades, you may not get to the end of a story for a good chunk of your life. This isn’t something to make you want to never pick up a comic, but something that should make you stand back and admire the diligence of the writer, the loyalty of its readers, and the perfect crafting of a narrative done through pictures and word balloons.

I first started reading comics when I was seven years old, eighteen years of my life, and I appreciated it every single year. Not like a film, novel, or music which you have to cultivate sometimes a certain taste, grow into it, mature with it. Comics have always been something I could dive into, have an adventure, and what was probably the most wonderful is that as time went on comic books seemed to mature with me. Over the years I’ve gone through three comic books stores I’ve called “mine,” been to maybe six or seven conventions, and even written my own comic script, and ironically it took me nearly those 18 years to realize that no matter how much I loved movies, comic books were my passion. It’s the one thing I love more than nearly anything else, the one thing I would do for a living if I could, the one thing that can always always always make me happy when I’m feeling bummed out. These are the feelings I wish kids these days knew about, I want these kids seeing Iron Man to go out and find a comic book store that they can spend even just a few bucks at once a week and maybe open up them up to something they never even knew existed. And apparently don’t.