Self-realization happens slowly. I have dim memories of being five-or-thereabouts and raising my arms in exultant joy that I was eating pancakes for dinner. I remember seeing myself in the dark reflection of the sliding glass door that led to the backyard of the Provo home that I had assumed we would live in until I died. Now that I see my second son's mannerisms, I believe that I tilted my head to one side the way he does, and I don't know if my memory is incorrect or not. One of the things that I dreamed of becoming some day was Spider-Man. I read novels about him, bought comics on occasion, and watched the '90s cartoon show fanatically. My own brown (ish) hair, white skin, and almost-kind-of-like-his body type only propelled me further into the fandom. If I married a redhead, I'd like to think it wasn't some vestigial sublimation of a too-obsessive childhood desire and that I was attracted to my future wife for other, more significant reasons. (Because I did, i...
Personal musings of Steven Dowdle