On my 8th birthday, my aunt Shirley handed me two comic books, one a Superman title and the other an issue of Archie Comics.
She carefully explained that the Superman reflected the kind of comics I’d be leaving behind, and the romance-obsessed Archie Andrews and his teenage pals represented the genre I’d be growing into.
“Uh-uh,” I replied firmly. “Nope.”
My parents and grandparents were a little concerned about my stubborn fascination with superhero comics, and hoped it was something I would grow out of.
Hope they’re not still waiting.
What a sweet and ironic retribution, too, when, about two years later, the “mature” Archie Andrews became a superhero, Pureheart the Powerful.
Finally I was buying Archies, but I’m afraid it brought my loving young aunt little comfort.
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