When I was just a wee fanboy, Sunday was comic book day.  It wasn’t the day new comics came out.  Rather, it was the day I went to the comic shop.

My parents were divorced.  I lived with Mom, staying with Dad every other weekend.  No matter where I was, though, Sunday was comic book day.

The comic shop was the first stop after church on Sunday morning.  Even before trying to beat the Baptists to Luby’s.  Comics, then as now, were serious business.  Mom would hand me somehwere between three and five dollars and I’d run into the store to buy as many comics as I could.  Of course, back then floppies were 30-cents each.  I’d come out of there with something like 10 to 15 comics.  More if I hit the bargain bin.  Those were a dime a piece back in the day.  Some of my fondest memories in the hobby come from sitting on the floor in the comic shop combing through the bargain box looking for some over-looked gem.

Who am I kidding?  I still love to do that!

In those days, I religiously read The Incredible Hulk, Avengers, Thor, Fantastic Four, and Spider-Man among others.

Returning home, I’d spend the rest of the afternoon with my head in the funny books.

Staying at Dad’s house, we’d get up on Sunday morning to visit the newstand.  There was a great one around the corner from his place.    Damned few in these parts these days.

Dad would snatch up a newspaper and peruse the architectural magazines while I scrutinized the spin-rack.  The comics I picked up there were never the ones I normally pulled at my FLCS.  For instance, I’d grab the Superman Family and Batman Family books.  Legion of Superheroes, Justice League of America, and Worlds Finest, too.  For some reason I never purchased those at the comic shop.

After Dad and I made our selections, we’d hit the donut shop, return home to enjoy the morning and read together.

It’s only recently that I realized that at Mom’s house I was a Marvel.  At Dad’s?  I was a DC.

I’m pretty sure that means something.  I have no idea what, though.

Care to speculate?