Part III, the final chapter in my series of musings about all things Sci-Fi, is a blazing reminder that I still have a ways to go..
The first time I’d ever heard about Comic Con, was when my parents called to inform me they were going as representatives of a company selling ‘Twilight’ clothing and other paraphernalia. My first reaction was, “What’s with all these vampires? And why do they need sparkly t-shirts?” They explained the whole Comic Con deal. I thought it was rather odd until my husband expressed interest in going himself.
Then I was completely baffled. But then again, most Sci-Fi stuff always has dumbfounded me (all that Highfalutin Astro-Physics and paradoxes of time travel kinda make my head implode).
So when He-Man scored tickets to Comic Con SLC this past fall, I only barely understood the excited-little-boy-on-Christmas-day glint in his eye. Even more, he got to do one of the things he does best, and that is to be part of engineering the event through volunteer work. I knew he was thrilled about going and that made me happy. I figured my role was to be supportive and assure him the kids and I would be fine with him gone over the three-day stretch.
He came home breathless the first day, excited to tell me all about his adventures and with the news that he scored more tickets for the entire family.
After talking about it during the evening, I was actually really excited. It helped that Dirk Benedict from the A-Team was there (another man whose face I use to kiss on t.v.). It was decided the kids and I would hop on public transportation and meet He-Man at the Con, making our conversion complete.
First Bad Omen:
2 girly preteen girls, 1 infant, a fish-out-of-water mom, an overcrowded Trax car and 2 Littles whose faces were butt level to every other passenger. These were their actual faces.
Second Bad Omen:
We arrived at the convention and followed the instructive texts to go to the front of the line where we would be whisked into the building, completely unaware of why we were getting daggers and nasty looks from people who are waiting in a line that literally consisted of thousands and thousands of people.
Third Bad Omen:
“Momma, why is that boy wearing ‘My Little Pony‘ underwear on the outside of his pants?”
“Ummm…those aren’t pants.”
Fourth Bad Omen: (after waiting 20 minutes at the Comic Con entrance watching security arguing with a card carrying member)
Mom uttered words, unspeakable words, mortifying to the pre-teen girl.
Fifth Bad Omen:
Starving, REALLY angry infant wanted to eat surrounded by a handful of random fully grown man-boys:
“Seriously, dudes. It is rude to stare at another person’s food. Besides, there are plenty of scantily clad women out there whose mammary glands are not dangerously close to exploding.”
Sixth Bad Omen:
“Momma, this Zombie Guy is freaking me out. He keeps bleeding on me.”
Seventh Bad Omen:
“Someone is in the women’s bathroom whose costume is too big to shut the stall door.”
Eighth Bad Omen:
“Hey Honey! Are you having a good time?!”
Ninth Bad Omen:
(Colorful, very descriptive language ) In other words: “I’d like to go home now.”
“Honey, are you SURE I’m not going to be in trouble when I come home if I stay until it’s over?”
Tenth Bad Omen:
Black, threatening storm clouds gathered as He-Man helped me take the kids, on a very brisk, very silent walk to the Trax Station…
Eleventh Bad Omen:
The train emptied us out at the station during a complete, torrential downpour.
My poor, soaking wet Ruby was making this exact face:
Our Little Punkin was just about this wet and adorable but definitely not as happy:
There comes a time in every woman’s life when, due to a series of uncontrollable circumstances and for no explicable reason, pure frustration courses through her veins and she discovers a rage never before experienced.
Looking back at the movie of my life, in those moments, standing in freezing cold puddles with five hungry, drenched, tired children, I wouldn’t be surprised if I looked a little like this:
It had been that kind of day.
Once He-Man came home and allowed me to rant and rave (yes, I’m ashamed to admit he was kinda in trouble even though he did nothing wrong), I realized that Comic Con wasn’t so bad. It was more likely that it was way too soon for me to take a two month old baby and four other children out into a wall-to-wall sea of people.
And then there was the moment of clarity and I realized just how amazing Comic Con really is. My experience that day may not have been awesome. But how incredible something like this truly is! Think about it. It’s a celebration of pure imagination. The amount of creativity sparked from every story is enough to bring hope to so many. It has allowed people to look beyond the proverbial box of normalcy and consider fantastical worlds of the beyond.
AND, a vast majority of the people at Comic Con were super nice. Even the zombie who bled on LuLu was just looking for a little fun.
And really, my experience wasn’t all bad. We happened to bump into 4 friends from high school. These are people who proudly embraced being Sci-Fi even back then. While a lot of us were really awkward people trying to look cool, they were the ones who actually were cool because they were the ones being real.
Which leads me to today. This is the day, months later when the experience finally became a funny memory after all. It is the day after He-Man and I finally finished catching up on the Doctor Who series. I have a full, working knowledge of what an AT-AT is, I understand the significance of a bowtie, and I have a healthy fear of Weeping Angels…AND I have relearned to appreciate Wil Wheaton.
I teased at the beginning of my recent posts, calling this the Dorkside. That’s a pretty inaccurate way to describe it. This is a place where brilliant people are free to be themselves. There’s a confidence that comes with that. Turns out, it’s not so dorky after all.
And so, this goes out to Erika, Garret, Jerry and Scott, who rescued my Comic Con experience.
This is especially for my dear He-Man who has patiently put up with the incessant questions interrupting his movies, the banning of his Star Wars paperbacks on every public bookshelf in our home and my refusal to name any of our children Leia, Amidala or Anakin.
I certainly do have a ways to go but I’m not hopeless.
To the rest of you:
Live long and prosper…and may the force be with you.
PS Wil Wheaton really is cool: