Finding Community

If was going to have a son, he was going to play third base for the Cubs someday. I was sure of it. Well, the Cubs might be a little lofty. Any major league baseball team would do. Maybe not even major leagues - I mean it’s hard for anyone to make it there. Even if he just would make it to the minors. Or college, if he played in college, it would be cool. Or maybe just a high school standout. Either way he’s going to play baseball and love it just like I did. I could be a proud dad and look at everyone after he hits a home run and say:

“That’s my son,” I would say, with a proud smile on my face.

After all, I loved baseball, so he’s going to as well – right?

The first thing I bought Kevin was a Cubs onesie, followed by a Hawkeye onesie. We were going to get this kid indoctrinated nice and early to my sports obsessions so we could bond over our favorite teams. I have sports on T.V. almost all the time. I kept waiting for him to walk by the T.V. and ask about baseball, football, golf, hockey, or anything else for that matter. He didn’t, until one time I put the newly released Star Wars Episode VII on the T.V. He was either two or three years old, probably sporting mainly a diaper he stood dead in front of the television. He giggled when BB8 came into the frame and expeditiously backed away from the set when Kylo-Ren went nuts. He crawled up on the couch and cuddled up next to me. He asked endless questions in toddler speak about Star Wars.

The Cubs won the World Series in 2016, which outside of his birth was probably the greatest thing I’ve ever witnessed. He was sure happy for me but didn’t share the same enthusiasm, all two years of him. He watched Stephanie and I scream at the television for the Hawkeyes and Blackhawks and Chiefs and Jets and Rory McIlroy and Lewis Hamilton and USA swimming on and on and on. The result was a lot of questions about Batman. Where was Batman from? How did his parents die? Who did it? What is Gotham like? What was Joker’s problem? Where did he come from? Was he really a bad guy?

Endless games of catch, kicking a soccer ball.

“Does Spiderman play soccer? I bet he would be amazing at it. He could shoot webs at the players.”

When Kevin started playing soccer in kindergarten and I would surely see glimpses of Lionel Messi flying around the field. Sure, I barely knew who that was. Sure, it wasn’t baseball. But I was damned sure going to be a soccer supporter when he became an ace at it. He could play on the U.S. Soccer team. We’re always awful, I think, there must be a roster spot on there somewhere. Or, he could play major league soccer for the Chicago…. soccer team. Five minutes into his first game it was evident that would not be happening. He isn’t a horrible athlete by any means. He has good dexterity, hand eye coordination. The little dude even has a great arm and can kick a mean soccer ball.

The problem was he showed about as much interest in soccer as I did in geometry and chemistry. He loved the game of soccer about as much as my mother loves Donald Trump. Being a mentally challenged mathematician born of a died-in-the-wool Kennedy hippie, the boy hated it. I mean loathed it. I tried to incentivize him with video games, another love of his. I said if he scored a goal, I would get him a video game of his choice. Every game he played he became less and less interested in getting new video games. We made him play one more season of soccer just to make sure he still hated it.He flew around the ball with as much intensity and interest as an evangelical has for a pride parade. He was uncomfortable and disgusted.

I tried every which way to get this kid interested in sports. In the meantime, he would crawl into bed with me and ask how Iron Man got rich, and if Stan Lee was the GOAT of comic book authors. While I was trying to get him to watch the Master’s golf with me on a Thursday, he was bringing home his first draft of a rudimentary comic book. He would ask me to play LEGO Avengers on PlayStation and wondered aloud how video games were made.

“Why does this kid hate sports?” I asked my wife.

“He’s happy, he’s healthy. He’s perfect.”

“I know all of that b-“

“Just because he doesn’t like sports like you do doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with him.”

“Of course there isn’t.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

Dammit. I hate that. I hate it when she makes points. It makes it so much harder to be irrational. In the meantime, we took Kevin to Wrigley Field to see the Cubs game. Later he threw up all over our suite at the Drake. I’m not sure how many red flags I had to blow by, but I kept going. We went to see my closest friend, Mikkel, coach high football. Given the fact Kevin adores the man, maybe he would have some interest in the game he coached. He liked seeing Mr. Mikkel with a smile on his face. He loved the popcorn. I saw family members and friends on social media take their children to club baseball tournaments, 7v7 tournaments, college sporting events, state basketball events. I was jealous. These kids all liked sports. Was I trying too hard? He will come around eventually, right?

“Dad, what’s Comicon?”

“It’s a place where people go who are interested in comic book stuff. Superheroes, fantasy stuff like dragons. Authors of comic books and novels show up and sign stuff, I think. A lot of people dress up like characters and meet one another.”

“REALLY?”

“Yeah”

“…ok.”

Months passed. Kevin’s 11^th birthday was approaching. Laser tag. Wonderful. Who doesn’t like sniping kids 1/4^th your age? I was meant to be in Omaha that upcoming Monday. O-Con, Omaha Comicon, was going to be there during my stay.

“Hey, Kev, do you want to check out this Comic-Con thing in Omaha after yo-“

“YES! Yes, please.”

“Yeah, okay. Do want to dress up as somebody?”

“I’m going to have to think about that really hard.”

“Well, alright. We can go.”

“REALLY?”

“Sure.”

We packed up and headed for Omaha immediately following his birthday. The family was in tow. It would be all our first Comic-Con experience. We weren’t sure what to expect. Dressing up as John Goodman’s character from the Big Lebowski, I got a lot of attention and selfies (I shamefully loved it). Compliments feel nice, after all. Stephanie (Captain Marvel) looked gorgeous, per usual. Nolan (Flash) was overwhelmed but came around once we got him a hand knitted Kirby toy. The amount of talent on that convention floor was impressive. Fantasy authors caught my attention, and I had a great time talking with a few. Erik Estrada was there, he looks so weird now, but it was fun to see that aging lizard. So many impressive costumes, impressive artists, and plenty of superhero cosplay.

In the thick of all the costumes, the wares for sale, the C list celebrities, and the sanitized convention floor one thing was obvious – the sense of community. There wasn’t one frowning face in that floor. The vibes were as positive as I’ve ever seen.

You see, the conventions I go to for work are a far different affair. Material handling and fabrications shows at the likes of McCormick Place and the Las Vegas Convention center have a far different vibe. It’s one of desperation, regret, and hangovers. Attendees stroll dead eyed by booths of droopy eyed sales managers and their underlings, trolling by for SWAG and a feigned attempt to hand over a business card. By the last day working a convention you seriously have considered quitting your job dozens of times. You fantasize taking a bathroom break to take shots of pure grain alcohol at the hotel bar without the boss smelling it on you. You start emailing your therapist to book you at least a dozen more appointments.

On this Comicon, the last day of the convention, everyone had a smile on their face. The sense of welcome like – minds warmed your heart. Kevin started to come out of his shell. As we went to leave, a man decked out head to toe in a fantastic Batman costume pointed right at Kevin in his own Batman costume and pumped his fist.

“We gotta get a picture together, buddy!” he said.

“Sure! Yeah!” Kevin said.

They took said picture, and then they shared a conversation I wasn’t privy to (ya know, Batman secrets). He gave Kevin another dap up and walked on.

“That was awesome,” Kevin said.

He was a chatterbox on the way back to the Embassy Suites (of which he thankfully would not throw up in). His thoughts ran into another, he rambled on and on about what he saw, what he liked, what he didn’t like. He went on about what was too loud, what was scary, what he didn’t understand. There was zero regulation between his brain and head.

Just like me when I talk about sports.

We got pizza delivered to the hotel room. The night wound down. I watched baseball on T.V. Kevin crawled on the couch with me, put his head on my shoulder. Something that is happening less and less, so I both love it and try not to ruin it.

“I had a lot of fun today. Thanks, Dad.”

“You’re very welcome, buddy.”

“Hey, do they have more of these? Like is this the only one?”

“I think they have quite a few actually.”

“Can we go to one close to us?”

“Yep, let me look into it.”
“Thanks, Dad.”

He walked away with a smile on his face. He picked up a light saber. He handed one to his brother. They started beating the hell of each other with them, per usual.

“That’s my son,” I said, with a proud smile on my face.

https://galaxycon.com/pages/galaxycon-des-moines