I quietly sat through the first installment of The Lord of the Rings, not because I was captivated by Peter Jackson’s epic storytelling, but rather because I was utterly lost in its convoluted plot. Newly married and eager to fit in, I found myself at my in-laws’ house, attempting to enjoy the movie. The only thing that saved me was my sister-in-law’s fancy massage chair. I claimed that delightful contraption for the entire three-plus hours, and honestly, I wouldn’t trade those soothing vibrations for anything—even for the mythical stone in the sword or whatever it was called in that overly complicated King Arthur book my middle-school friend insisted I read. The chair was a decent compromise for having to feign interest in The Lord of the Rings. Ultimately, though, even those delightful sensations couldn’t alleviate my discomfort.
Please don’t judge me for my disdain towards fantasy. Whether it’s Star Wars (all of them), Game of Thrones, or whatever the latest fantasy craze might be (which I’m sure I’m blissfully unaware of), I just can’t connect with these alternate realms that seem to resonate so deeply with almost everyone, especially my Gen-X peers. I genuinely appreciate the intricate artistry behind these cultural phenomena and the universal themes they explore (though I might need a refresher on the allegiances of various characters), but as long as I don’t have to watch or read any of it, I’m perfectly fine.
I must have been on another planet—a rather dull one at that—when the roots of Comic Con, cosplay, and all this superhero nostalgia were being planted. Meanwhile, others my age were enthusiastically wielding light sabers, ensuring their future children would be immersed in epic battles of good and evil from the very beginning.
I’m a fan of Molly Ringwald, Alice in Chains, Eminem, and the works of Anne and Charlotte Brontë—though I find their older sister a bit overrated. I read constantly. Bad Santa is my go-to Christmas movie. I wouldn’t classify myself as an intellectual, nor an anti-intellectual. I like to think of myself as eclectic, but in reality, my reluctance to dive into any specific genre comes from sheer laziness. The allure of costumes and intricate fantasy universes leaves me unamused. It’s not a conscious choice; it’s simply how I’m wired. Instead of a fantasy chip, I’ve got a reality chip—small and dry like a shed fingernail—and I’ve passed that trait onto my son.
At eight, my son, Jake, has only truly connected with one set of characters: the crew from Pixar’s first Cars film. His fascination made sense, given his long-standing obsession with vehicles that lasted well into last year. However, that enthusiasm faded quickly. While rummaging through his dusty collection of Matchbox cars recently, he stumbled upon a few Cars characters—a once-beloved Lightning McQueen and a forlorn Tow Mater—and blushed deeply. “I don’t mind if we get rid of these,” he murmured.
Toy Story never resonated with him, nor did the superheroes or their modern counterparts that have captivated most of his friends. Batman, Spiderman, Captain America, Transformers, Power Rangers—he’s encountered them all, but his reactions range from confusion to indifference. “Aloof” was how one of his early teachers described him. She worried that my four-year-old was too dignified for dress-up time. Sure, it was unusual, but I often thought of another child we knew—a high-strung kid who wore his homemade Batman costume everywhere. If his mother even hinted at him removing that felt hood on a hot summer day, he would blow up like a firecracker. Rational adults found him adorable; they understood him. I decided that both my son and I were simply misunderstood.
I have an old photo of my fun-loving cousins posing by an old house, transformed into a stage with creative disguises—wigs, bedsheets, and mascara-drawn mustaches—everyone was hamming it up for some home-theater performance. Except for one child, a girl in a yellow blouse and faded jeans, sitting with her hands clasped around her knees, sourly refusing to join in. That was me.
An eerily similar photo surfaced two years ago on Halloween. Jake was dressed in branded gear from a professional skateboarder as his “costume.” He began skating at six, thanks to his dad, who is his ultimate idol. Next to him, his two closest friends were fully decked out as Flash Gordon and the Joker, all smiles while Jake struck a tough-guy pose. His expression seemed to say, “I’ll wear spandex when they build a half-pipe on the moon.”
Despite our different attitudes, the trio remains tight. They play Minecraft together and trade Pokémon cards. Admittedly, both activities draw from fantasy worlds, so when Jake first showed interest in them, I figured it was just a developmental phase, like a late-emerging tooth.
However, I doubt he’ll ever don the cape of superhero fandom. Earlier this summer, following a directive from Jake’s teacher to “encourage his reading,” I took him to the library with a list of graphic novels recommended by an old college friend whose son is now a teenager. These were titles that could entice an elementary-aged boy, my friend assured me. And he was right—most were already checked out. The Batman books were gone, and so were the Supermans. I managed to find two Pokémon books and a few Wimpy Kid installments we hadn’t read yet, plus one Spiderman graphic novel.
I checked out the Spiderman book, but before we even got home, I sensed Jake wouldn’t touch it. As we walked through the parking garage, avoiding the less-than-pleasant elevator, I gave it one last try. “If Spiderman were here,” I suggested, “he would just scale the wall and be there already.” Jake shot me a strange look, though we were alone. A younger child might have actually looked for Spiderman, hoping for a miraculous sighting. Instead, Jake just wanted me to be quiet, employing that charming, subtly manipulative sweetness that only an only child can muster. “Please don’t say ‘Spiderman’ in public, Mom. It embarrasses me.”
In summary, while fantasy worlds captivate many, for some of us, reality holds a stronger allure. My son and I may be outliers in a culture that celebrates superheroes and magical realms, but we find joy in our own interests. If you’re looking for tips on home insemination or wish to explore fertility supplements, check out reputable sources like this site or this excellent resource for pregnancy and home insemination.
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