Merry Marvel Marching Society

A few weeks ago I went with my son to the local comic book store. It's another one of those stops that being the father of a nine year old boy allows me to make with little or no guilt. I dropped him off in the "Transformers" section, and began to wander the shelves for my own amusement. I came across many familiar compilations of heroes from my youth: The Avengers, Captain America and The Falcon, even a great big book of Jack Kirby. I loved Jack Kirby. All of the jaws were as square as the mighty fists and fingers. This man knew his super powers.
Then I fell into row after row of Spiderman titles. Some were reprints of comics I read when I was nine. There were at least half a dozen titles featuring various permutations of Peter Parker's private life, including one that takes place in an alternate future where Peter's Uncle Ben had lived and - well, it made my head swim just a little trying to take it all in.
"Can I help you find something?"
The voice from behind me belonged to a pleasant young man sporting a mohawk and an X-Men t-shirt. I assumed he worked there, or at least would have a working knowledge of the mythology that lay before me. "What's up with Spidey's new uniform?" True believers, as Stan Lee refers to us, can call him that.
"You mean the red and gold outfit? Tony Stark designed that for him as part of the 'Civil War' series. Have you checked out issue three?"
I didn't want to tell him that I hadn't checked out issue one, but had happened on the last few panels of issue two as I was leafing through dozens of different magazines. "Peter Parker is working for Stark?" I wanted to sound incredulous, but in the know.
"For now, but he's already starting to feel bad about it. You really ought to pick up number three to get the whole story."
"Thanks," I said, picking up issue three and flipping through it. Then I was alone again. I put the comic back on the shelf. I looked down the aisle to see if my son had been consumed by media or if he had bested the volumes in front of him. We bought two Transformer comics and a pair of Star Wars compilations which played with the classic story lines of "A New Hope" and "Empire Strikes Back." He had read each of them a number of times before bedtime.
I didn't buy any comics. I just needed to check in. Every so often when I am off work on a weekday, I flip past "General Hospital" to see if I know anybody in Port Charles anymore. I watch a few minutes, and feel the distance of years, then head back to ESPN or some cable movie that I've seen too many times. It's good to know it's there, but you can't go home again - especially when "home" costs $2.99 and issue.