Sunday was big, Sunday I meet Stan Lee!
To say the 12 year old me was as excited was the understatement of the decade! In my hands was a tattered and faded copy of an old Captain America comic I got at the Pearland flea market for a dollar. I slowly flip through the yellowed pages study the names on the page “Art by Jack Kirby” “Written by Stan Lee”. My mom calls me, I put the book in the plastic bag and board and we head out.
Five minutes later, my mom’s 1979 brown Volvo starts to spit smoke into the vehicle and breaks down in the middle of the road.
We avoid getting run over and push the car to the Food-A-Rama and wait by the pay phone.
My step father James arrives and stays behind with the tow truck guy. My mom makes a few more calls and we hop a bus and figure out how to get to the hotel.
Three bus changes and four blocks later, we arrive at the comic convention and buy numbered tickets. Ticket 100 would mean you are the the 100th person to see Stan Lee, have him sign your book and get to say “Hi”. My number was 253. The twelve year old me beyond excited.
“Ladies and gentlemen Mr. Stan Lee has a plane to catch and will stop signing autographs at 250!”.
I look at my ticket number 253 and curse myself as Stan is escorted out of the convention room.
Just before I can wallow in self pity, my mother grabs my hand and we race to the hotel lobby. “If he’s leaving… He’s got to leave through here.” She explains to me getting winded with every word.
We arrive at the lobby I catch my breath and what do you know? There Stan Lee is at the hotel lobby getting ready to lift two heavy suit cases.
“Here I’ll take care of this!”, I leap forward and lift both Stan’s suitcases with all I got and waddle towards his cab.
I hand him the Captain America comic and a marker as he signs the book and leaves town.