Cutting Comics in College

Some memories of my childhood are crystal clear. I can remember events, circumstances, relationships, nuances, perspectives, comics, TV shows, books, road trips, houses, playgrounds, schools and more with crystal clarity.

My memories of my college years are blurry and quick and diluted. I can't summon those nearly as well. And the blurriness can't be attributed to alcohol or drugs, as I just wasn't that kind of guy. There might be a scientific reason for this lack of clarity concerning these years, but I think it's part-and-parcel with the arrogance of being at that age.

So I'm going to try to punch through that blurry curtain today so I can tell you a story.

The first time I quit comics was in the Spring of 1988. I was graduating college and moving away. Not only was I going off to college in West Chester, Pennsylvania, but my parents were moving out of our home in Fairfax, VA to attend my father's next Air Force assignment in South Dakota. There truly was no going home again.

I can barely remember this time. And I know almost nothing about what my parents and sisters may have been going through. All I can remember is my own extremely narrow viewpoint. I remember that all I cared about was my friends, girlfriend, and social concerns. My thoughts certainly weren't on grades or the future or who I would be in the next five years. It was a different Chuck entirely.

The decision to quit comics was a purposeful one. I don't remember all the factors. I remember not being really thrilled with what was going on with the DC Characters at the time. I remember feeling peer pressure that I was too old for such things. I remember my parents vigorously supporting the decision to give up comics. I remember my Father's advice... "Just re-read the ones you already have." I remember not knowing if there was a comic book store in the town I was moving too. (Pre-internet days.) I remember being worried about getting a job in order to afford the rent I would have to pay to my Grandparents, who I would be living with, and gas money to come back occasionally and visit my girlfriend and my gang of guy friends.

There were four titles that I still enjoyed enough that I didn't want to let them go. I ordered subscriptions to these titles, and set it up so they would be mailed to my new address at my Grandmother's house. THE PLAN WAS... that these four titles would be my only link to comics. And in a year's time when the subscription was up I would re-evaluate the need to re-up the subscriptions.

Plans, plans, plans.

As an adult looking back, I can't help but think how stupid this was.

I was moving. Headed from high school to college. Losing my friends and my girl friend, at least their proximity. Living in a new place with a new job with a new school reality and with no friends and family. I should have been looking for anchors, not looking to cast more away.

And yet, it should be obvious to everyone that my plans did not work. I remember sitting in my grandparents house bored out of my mind. Quite obviously depressed and headed towards the worst semester of what would be a lackluster college career. And like a drug addict or alcoholic, I turned to what I knew would make me happy. At least temporarily, until I needed a new 'fix'. And one comic, or picking up one new title to follow, was never enough.

It was the beginnings of a bad behavioral pattern. Miserable? Go buy comics. Something bad happened? Go buy even more comics. Class not going so well? Cut it and head to the comic store. No comics left to buy? Pick up some new toys.

The 1990's were rough for many reasons. And as an adult looking back I see an unhealthy addict looking to fill a void of unhappiness using methods that I felt were harmless but were in actuality setting bad reality-avoidance behavior patterns that would stay with me for years. Until I was adult enough, mature enough, to understand more about myself and my place in the world.

I'm not saying I never have unhappy moments anymore. Quite the opposite is true. But I do feel that I'm armed well enough to understand the best ways to handle those moments. And I certainly don't spend money to fill a void anymore. I have other, more healthy methods for wrestling with these concerns. They don't always work, but I know enough now to know that hopping on the internet and winning an eBay auction will be the worst kind of quick fix that won't do a damn thing to help.

The kid that couldn't see outside of his own immediate concerns is now the adult that tries his best to stay hyper-aware of what's going on around him. And I've begun to try to focus this awareness internally.

Is this what getting old is about?

Thanks,
DCD