DAY FOUR - PAGE 3
A FEW RANDOM CLOSING OBSERVATIONS
1. Since I started writing this, it's been announced that CCI will be staying in San Diego for the next few years, which is the equivalent of Contadina trying to jam 80 great tomatoes in that same little bitty can. So in future trips, we can probably count on more lines like the kind we experienced with The Walking Dead. But that won't stop us from going.
2. As is our custom, we purchased tickets for next year while we were there. Sam and Ben also purchased tickets for some friends of theirs. I told my sons that I'm as hospitable as the next guy, but that doesn't mean I'll let their friends crash in our hotel room. Practically speaking, there wouldn't be the floor space for all the air mattresses. I'm not sure if I'm off the hook, though... I saw them looking online at the rental rates for one of those bouncy castle things you see at kids' birthday parties.
3. Maybe next year, I'll try revisiting Hall H. It'll involve spending most of the day in there, so I'll have to stuff my ScotteVest full of Slim Jims and Diet Dr. Pepper, but it's been a couple of years since I've taken in the Hollywood side of the Con, and it might be worth revisiting, as long as I don't tick off anybody who might pull a ballpoint pen.
4. Regarding item #1: please tell me that some of you get the Contadina reference.
5. I wish my wife Sue were still going with us. She's missing out on a lot of fun. But it's our fun, not hers. When she attended, she hated the crowds, she didn't like being dragged around the Exhibition Hall, and, like Alice, she felt as if she had fallen through The Looking Glass into a world populated by folks who wouldn't get that reference unless they had read Classics Illustrated #49 or were Tim Burton fans.
My reasons for wishing she'd come with us are, typically, entirely selfish. Of course, after over 34 years of marriage, I'm starting to get attached to her and it feels a little funny to go somewhere for four days without her. But there's a more specific reason: there's something about my wife that causes perfect strangers to spontaneously initiate conversations with her.
I can't tell you how many times I've been with Sue in some public place, minding our our own business, when someone in the same line, or sitting at a nearby table, or having a root canal in the other dentist's chair, will suddenly start talking to her. We've had many interesting conversations with folks we've just met, simply because there's some mysterious wavelength Sue transmits that makes people want to share observations and experiences with her. Just today, totally unprompted, the check-out lady at Target let her know about her Thanksgiving dinner plans and how much she planned to drink.
Since, for me, a good deal of the fun of the Comic-Con is observing the people, I always enjoyed the interesting interactions we'd have whenever Sue was along. It was rather disconcerting to discover that, without Sue at my side, no one except Ben and Sam really wanted to talk with me. On occasion, I tried to initiate some conversations with nearby strangers, but it was clear from their polite nods and the weapons they produced that they weren't interested. I'm betting that if Sue had been with me, I not only would have gotten that sketch from Bruce Timm; we would have learned his favorite brand of breakfast cereal and if he likes camping.
6. Just for the record, I know that my enjoyment of the Comic-Con makes me seem rather odd and a bit immature (or downright weird, if you're not inclined toward understatement). I have no illusions about my eccentricities: I'm a 57 year old man that still reads comics, watches cartoons, and knows Jim Rockford's license plate number. I'm not clear on the demographics of my readers (the Nielsons get a little bit spotty when the audience dips below 2 or 3), but I'm sure most of you are pretty normal. You wouldn't think of spending four days hob-nobbing with the Comic-Con crowd, and probably think that a man my age should have more traditional recreational pursuits like watching professional sports, going fishing, and playing golf.
But that ship has sailed... at this stage in my life, there's no way I'm going to craft a new image that will help me relate more closely to my peers. So I might as well keep going to the Con as long as I'm able and as long as it remains fun. And it will keep being fun for at least as long as one or both of my sons can go with me.
Being a dad has been a great privilege for me; so great a privilege that I find it amazing that the role comes with an added bonus: it's just so darn fun. Looking back on my job performance, I know I haven't been a great dad--- I sure won't win any Ward Cleaver awards--- but still, like most dads, I love my sons. More to the point, I like my sons. I enjoy hanging around with them, watching TV with them, joking with them, even arguing with them. Just like I love being Sue's husband, I love being their dad.
My dad died in his mid-fifties... I was in my early twenties. For a couple of decades, I knew him as my dad, but I was just getting to know him as a guy when God took him away. In the years that followed, God gave me the gift of my two sons... and now has given me the time to spend with them as fellow adults and friends. I'm sure my sons have a pretty good idea of how much I love them, and I'm sure they've already decided what kind of dad I am. I hope, by the time I join my dad, they'll know who I am.
These Comic-Con trips have been a part of that, and they're a gift I don't take for granted.
Of course, it's at the expense of my sons, who have to indulge their father every year. But it's a price I'm willing to have them pay.
All material copyright 2009 Chuck Thornton