I’ve managed to not get sucked into the mad world of comic fandom – although I’ve had my share of dalliances, most notably with Batman, Spawn and The Crow ::sigh:: (I like ’em dark & tortured and a little on the wrong side of heroic) – but the one time I succumbed to the lure of Cosplay was for a friend’s 5th birthday party. My mom had bought me a few decks of superhero trading cards and my favourite – besides Batman – was Scarlet Witch. I carried her everywhere with me. When my friend’s Superhero Party was announced, she’s who I wanted to go as.
I had a red bathing suit and little red sneakers, so I was halfway there. My mom made a cape, I think, though I can’t be sure. I do remember the accessories, the headdress and gauntlets, because they were made from cardboard and poster paint. I can still shudder. You think a 5-year-old can’t feel shame, can’t understand that her costume is “hella ghetto”… but I did. And so, Scarlet Witch will forever hold these conflicting memories for me. But with the distance and addition of years, I have come to understand and appreciate what my parents faced in those early years.
Temperance: Heals all wounds?