I’ve thoroughly corrupted my wife, and it’s such delicious fun.
There was a time when she might have rolled her eyes when I expounded on the joys of the latest He-Man cartoon, or when she might have simply nodded politely while I described action figures in painstaking detail. There may even have been a day when she didn’t grasp the difference between a Spock, a Worf, a Janeway, and an Archer.
Oh, how times have changed.
She swears she was predisposed to this — that she loved superhero cartoons like Batman and Gargoyles when she was younger. But it’s evolved into so much more: not only has she joined me for hours-long marathons of Batman: The Animated Series or Star Trek: The Next Generation; now she can even list her favorite comic book villains and name their alter-egos. She can pick Iron Man out of a lineup, enumerate Martian Manhunter’s powers, and describe what used to be the best way to take down Wonder Woman.
She’s even helping indoctrinate our toddler. I swear, I had nothing to do with the Justice League cup-and-plate set. The boy hasn’t even graduated to three-word sentences, but he can already identify pictures of Batman (“Batzth! Mannn!”) and The Flash (“Fashh!”). Ask him about Flash’s superpower, and the little guy will grin and start flailing his legs as fast as he can.
And my wife still surprises me. We’ll be snuggled up in bed, watching a cartoon on DVD or videotape, and she’ll suddenly mention that Poison Ivy’s costume is the wrong color or that another character is an obvious Black Canary homage.
Now that’s what I call love.