Read It Again

I was in fifth or sixth grade when Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons's Watchmen hit comic shops. I knew it was a big deal from listening to the buzz at Best of Both Worlds, my long-lost but never-forgotten Haight Street hangout.

I dutifully purchased every issue, even encasing number one with its iconic blood-in-the-gutter cover in a mylar sleeve. (seventy-five cents! for a plastic envelope? my mom would have killed me) And I'm pretty sure I read every issue... just as I'm pretty sure I glossed over all the text pieces at the end of each issue. But I'm positive I didn't understand what the hell was going on. A twelve year old kid understands what makes Secret Wars II so cool (although even at that age I knew there was something embarrassing about the Beyonder in a mullet and white jumpsuit), but as for who was watching the Watchmen... and why I should care? No clue.

Towards the end of my eighth grade year I had to veto my mom's educentric gift-giving tradition when it came time to pick something out for Mr. Matthews, our math and science teacher and all-around cool (some might say career-inspiring) guy . A pack of highliters or set of stationery might have been fine for Sister Therese Martin, but no way was Bob Matthews getting saddled with some lame, perfectly-forgettable pedagogical present. I wanted to get him a comic book. Barely a teenager and my Read More Comics! crusade had already begun.

What I wanted to buy him was Frank Miller's Dark Knight Returns. That was a book I had read, fostering my first ever crush on back issue bins in relentless pursuit of old Miller Daredevils. But I remember thinking it was maybe too violent... or inappropriate in some way... at least to give to my favorite middle school teacher. So I opted for the newly-published trade edition of a comic featuring rape, murder, and child abduction, all lovingly woven into a tapestry of Cold War apocalypse. The hell did I know? I didn't actually read the damn thing.

So for the last few weeks of school, every chance he got, Mr. Matthews stopped me as I was leaving class and talked Watchmen with me. How incredible it was to read a superhero story like this! How intricate it was! How prescient! He shared theories with me as to who killed the Comedian but, wait wait -- don't tell me! (Don't worry. I had no idea.) And I nodded along, happy that he liked it, agreeing with every compliment. Wow! This book must be really good!

Even then I was too much of an obsessive collector to risk damaging the original issues, so I bought my own copy of the trade. Twenty bucks was a big deal back then, but if I ever ran into my old teacher I wanted to be able to say something back. Of course I remember getting you The Watchmen! Yeah... I just re-read it myself. Great, yeah?

So as a high school freshman I gave it my first real read... and then again in college. (That second perusal was the first time, I think, that I actually read the text pieces.)

And I read it again yesterday. Obviously the movie was a motivating factor, and yes, I too am excited that Ensign Crusher approves, but really I wanted to read it for the same reason I read it that first time. I mean the real first time. The book is selling millions of copies and it's getting people who wouldn't otherwise read comics to dip their toes into the medium. And with any luck, even if the movie isn't as good as Wesley says, the book will open eyes, counter preconceptions, and create some converts to the cause. So read it again. Or read it for the first time. The real first time.