Freaks & Geeks

It wasn’t that long ago that I knew very little about the world of sci-fi/fantasy, comic book and pop culture conventions.  I grew up mildly aware that there were such people in the world called Trekkies that dressed up as members of some Star Fleet ship or another and gathered in large cities far away from my home in rural Alabama, and much later I had a younger brother that was an avid gamer that delved into the world of RPGs and anime conventions, but I didn’t understand or connect with any of those folks.

To a certain extent I can say that I admired the Trekkies’ dedication to their fandom and my brother’s commitment to embody a character for a Con so completely that he cut his coveted long hair to get a certain look just right, but as far as I was concerned Star Trek nerds were…well, nerds…and the only thing I knew about anime were the names of a few Pokemon and that Sailor Moon’s outfit was a little sexier than I thought any clothing on a kids’ cartoon series should be.

My much younger brother was angsty and impatient with my lame agedness, and I never took the time to delve too deep into his geekdom, so we never bonded over the culture the way I now wish we’d been able to.   Fast forward a few years and I meet my first ENTIRE FAMILY of cosplay enthusiasts.  The Smiths:   A surgeon, her City Board of Education member husband (who happened to also be my kids’ favorite soccer coach), and their young sons, spend their free time dressing up like a small hoard of Jedi’s and waiting all year for Star Wars weekend at Disney World to make an annual pilgrimage.  They’re an All-American family living in my home town in a respectable neighborhood in an awesome log-cabin style home, the basement of which is filled wall-to-wall with some of the coolest Star Wars memorabilia that I’ve ever seen, peppered with many photos of the Smith Family in full Star Wars regalia. The Smiths weren’t awkward and angsty the way my teenage brother had seemed to me years earlier.  I didn’t get the impression that they dressed up like sci-fi characters to fit in or find acceptance the way I (wrongfully) suspected my brother did.  The Smiths were cool and respectable and fun, and they helped me reevaluate and try to better understand my brother and his love of cosplay and Con culture.

Newly enlightened as I was, I still hadn’t explored a Con for myself, however. I’d come to think of Trekkies and other followers of fandoms like my brother and The Smiths in new ways, though, and came to understand that cosplayers and Con goers shared a few traits:  on top of being completely devoted to their various fandoms, they were also incredibly intelligent, enthusiastic, accepting, and wildly creative.

When I finally delved into the world of Cons it was in a big way.  After attending Nashville’s Southern Festival of Books last October as an author vendor, I was invited to sit as a panelist the following week at WizardWorld, Nashville’s largest Comicon event.  I was super excited as I arrived at the Country Music Hall of Fame dressed in my customary garb for author functions:  heels, slacks and a sensible blouse.  I have a picture of Darth Vadar strangling me with The Force in that get-up that is absolutely PRICELESS!

Anyway, I had tons of fun at WizardWorld, met lots of awesome folks—including Henry Winkler who was an absolute riot and so gracious to his fans—and got to sit on a really great panel about researching while novel writing.  (I ask you, can you get any nerdier than that?)

[Photo Credit: www.asmize.com]

Since WizardWorld I’ve attended a few more conventions as a guest:

Alabama Phoenix Festival in Birmingham, Alabama;

[Photo Credit:  APF/Facebook]

The Geek Gathering in Muscle Shoals;

and YomuCon in Tuscaloosa.

[Photo Credit:  Ben Flanagan/al.com]

I've had the BEST of times, made many friends, and met countless incredibly talented cosplayers.  I'm hooked!

I’ve stopped wearing my author clothes to Cons for the most part—the Geek Gathering had some fabulous event shirts that I loved—but I haven’t worked up the courage for cosplay…yet.  More and more these days I think on what kind of costume I might be brave enough to don one day.  My heart belongs to the world of Harry Potter, but I’m a little too old…and rotund…for Hermione.  There’s always Professor Sprout I guess.  She’s a fatty, too.  Or Madam Hooch, maybe? I love her hair!  It would be quite the way to come back from that embarrassing Harry Potter Trivia loss I suffered onboard a Carnival cruise this past summer due to missing one lousy Madam Hooch question.  I’ll have to think on it some more.

Professor Sprout

In the end, it doesn't matter if I go to my next Con as Professor Sprout, Madame Hooch, or just plain, awkward Author Woman; I know I’ll still have a great time and fit right in.

In the Army Now

Life has been different in the Lowery-Combs House since August when we reluctantly handed our oldest child over to the United States Army. It was a decision #1 made early on during his Senior year of high school so we knew his leaving was coming after graduation in May. That, however, didn’t make it any easier to watch him being driven away from our local recruitment station in a van full of other young recruits without knowing when we’d next hear from him.

I cried for ten days straight.Every time I folded a load of laundry, went to the grocery store, cooked a meal, or heard one of my other children walk through the door after school, I cried for the son who I’d not be tending to, feeding, or greeting at the end of a day for perhaps a very long time if ever again—my son would be a man when I saw him again, after all, and a soldier, highly trained to be capable, responsible and self-sufficient. I mourned for the boy who counted on me for matching socks and clean underwear, the boy who preferred his sandwiches prepared without any condiments, please, and kissed me goodnight every night before bed when his much younger siblings had stopped doing so years ago.

I worried constantly. Was #1 truly prepared for the harshness of a Drill Sergeant whose job it was to transform him from a boy civilian to a combat-ready warrior? Was he physically ready for training? How would he cope with too little sleep and barely enough food to function? Was he regretting his decision to join? What would his fellow trainees be like? Would they support one another? And what about all those guns? He’d shot one of our garage windows out with a pellet gun a few weeks before his high school graduation, and now someone was going to put a M4, a few grenades and a rocket launcher in his hands?

With his absence I came to appreciate anew many of my son’s attributes that I began to understand would make him a successful soldier. He’d been the first of my children to lend a hand when needed. He was my go-to for errands in town. I could trust him implicitly with my car, debit card, and important family business. He had a knack for keeping his younger siblings from killing one another in my absence, even when they drove him completely nuts. He accepted responsibility and rarely complained. He was quick and strong. He respected authority. He had great manners. I recited these qualities to myself day and night whenever doubt and fear about how he was holding up crept in.

For almost three agonizing weeks our family waited for word from our SIT (Soldier in Training), during which time I joined a Facebook group for families with trainees at his Army base. Having others to talk to with similar worries and questions helped tremendously, and I learned a good deal about the BCT (Basic Combat Training) and OSUT (One Station Unit Training) experiences. I was also introduced to a site that published training photos for purchase. Seeing with my own eyes #1 training and apparently succeeding did more to ease my apprehension than probably anything else. His father had teased me in the beginning about my cyber-stalking of his base and platoon, my pouring over hundreds of photos, hoping for even a glimpse of our son, but when I had pictures of #1 to show for it, his dad was thrilled that I’d been so determined.

The following weeks were tough, but through photos we watched our son and his Company complete rope courses and land navigation exercises, exit a gas chamber (gagging, weepy and snotty), throw grenades and fire an assortment of American Military weapons. Through his letters, we learned about the physical and mental challenges #1 was overcoming as well. With few and unpredictable phone calls we gauged the success of his platoon. In some ways, I hardly recognized the man my boy was becoming with every passing week. I wondered how the experience was changing him in other ways. How would he be when we saw him in late October for Family Day?

This past weekend I got my answer. #1 is doing GREAT! He’s healthy, disciplined and focused. He was a little tired and always, always hungry; but he loves the Army and is ready to complete his training. He had a few stories to tell…he’s been able to see both the humor and critical importance of his experiences so far. There was a new tenderness between him and his brothers and sisters that comforted me and warmed my heart. He could tell how much he’s been missed. It was a great visit but bitter sweet, too. It was hard to watch him have to turn and walk away from us again.

The Gang's All Here

"Reunited, and it feels so good!"

We think Danann may have found her calling.

Big Brother to the Rescue!

As he enters his second phase of training, I have less trepidation. My son is an American Soldier. He’s got this. Hearing him recite, with his Company, The Soldier’s Creed was the only assurance of that I needed. We still miss his everyday presence in our home—I still get teary eyed over the last pork chop in a pan that would have been his—but we hold him closer in our hearts than ever before. We’re in the Army now, and we couldn’t be prouder. Hooah!