Rony Daniel
Nahariya, Israel

I'll start from the present and from there I'll journey a bit to the far past and the near future, if you don't mind.

Stan Lee is the man in charge of the very visibly fact that my room is a mess. Really. It looks like an earthquake and a tornado came to visit, with their family and friend. My dear dad, who is a hardworking man, never ceases to complain about how you can never see the floor. I had a girlfriend who refused to come in simply because she was afraid to step on something alive. Her fear was justified (oh, my poor cat). The reason my room looks like a death trap is because about half of it is occupied by various means of comic-book storage.

Now, as I promised, a time travel.

Comics are the love of my life. I wouldn't kill for a book but I'll use whatever is left of my slim bank account to get what I want. It's all about how it makes me feel like a kid again, in this cynical world, almost innocent.

I'm 23 years old, not a child anymore and pretty much a man. I have served in the army. I worked in an emergency room, where life and death danced every day. I was a pool cleaner. And I always wanted to be an architect.

I used to look (and still do) at grand, sky-reaching buildings and say a little "wow" to myself. Being a part of those enormous works of practical art was a dream. I decided to reach for it.

When the exams came I knew I was ready, I had no doubt. There were about 1000 people competing for 80 seats but I was ready.

A few months before I took my out my collection and sorted out the books with great, eye-hitting art. Where endless cities and high towers were the stars of the background. I bought a few dozen pencils, some big white pages and started to copy New York, Gotham and Metropolis. Spiderman, The Avengers, Batman, all the guys and girls where present and I watched their back stages, their homes, and took them apart.

After a couple of weeks all I needed to do was to picture the right comic book and the atmosphere and style were in me. I wasn't great. (Kirby I'm not.) But my chairs looks like Peter Parker's ass would fit in them and my mansions would make Jarvis proud and dust happy.

When the test was over I didn't even blink. I was safe. My books had the diversity to send me into structures from other future space to tunnels of technology. The Fantastic Four made my test easy.

A couple of months later I got the letter. I was in.

My chance to be a Gary Frank, a Gaudi, a De Vinci.

To make other people, from other times say the "wow" word. My chance and I ain't gonna slip. Count on that. Count on me.

So, what do we have here?

A man-boy with a problematic love life and a hope given form. Life isn't perfect but I'm a satisfied costumer.

The End.

Now, lets go to the beginning.

I was five years old. Didn't know all the English letters yet. Knew a few. (Cup, Walk, Eat, Fun, Tarzan.) My mom (What a lady. You can talk about everything with this woman) and me went to buy something from somewhere. (It was almost twenty years ago, please.) And I was making noises, as always. Mom, wise as ever, used the secret doomsday weapon and told me to pick something from the store. I jumped at the opportunity train and went scouting for gold. What I found was two prizes. The first was a copy of Amazing Fantasy 15, translated to Hebrew, and the other was an instruction manual about how to become a young magician. (In other words, cheap party tricks for the easily impressed kid.)

The choice was hard. I couldn't pick both and my mind raced, what shall it be? How to pull a carrot out of a hat or the strange spider person in the pajamas?

Mom rushed me and, I remember it as if it happened an hour ago, I went home with the Spider.

This is one of the few days in my life where I can point my finger and say, "Hey, My life changed at that time and place, Right there."

My hobby world never survived, my wallet is in a constant pain and I couldn't be happier. I fell in love.

Thank you, Stan Lee.

I'm in your debt, Sir.