The first time I watched The Lord of the Rings, I sat in silence, not because I was captivated by the epic tale, but because I was utterly lost. Newly married, I found myself at my in-laws’ house, trying to be a good sport while grappling with the convoluted plot. The only thing that kept me sane was my sister-in-law’s fancy massage chair, which I claimed for the entire three-hour ordeal. I cherished those soothing vibrations, far more than any magical sword or mythical quest that whizzed above my head.
Please don’t hold it against me—I just don’t vibe with fantasy. Whether it’s Star Wars (which one? There are so many!), Game of Thrones, or whatever the latest magical franchise happens to be, I simply can’t engage with these otherworldly narratives that seem to resonate so deeply with almost everyone around me, especially my Gen-X contemporaries. While I can appreciate the artistry and universal themes, I’d rather not have to wade through plots that require a family tree to keep track of allies and enemies.
I must have been on an entirely different planet, one devoid of the hype that birthed Comic Con, cosplay, and superhero nostalgia. Meanwhile, it seems my peers were busy ensuring their future children would inherit their passion for epic battles, probably even before they were born.
I enjoy the works of Molly Ringwald, Alice in Chains, Eminem, and the Brontë sisters—though I find their eldest sibling a bit overrated. I read constantly, and my favorite Christmas movie is Bad Santa. I don’t consider myself an intellectual, nor an anti-intellectual. I like to think of myself as eclectic, though it’s more accurate to say I’m too lazy to dive deep into any particular genre. The intricate costumes and convoluted universes leave me cold. It’s not a matter of preference; it’s instinctual. Instead of a fantasy-loving chip, I’ve got a reality chip—dry and small like a shed fingernail.
I’ve passed this trait on to my son. At eight years old, he’s only ever been enchanted by one set of characters: the crew from Pixar’s Cars. That connection made sense, given his long-standing fascination with vehicles, but even that passion faded quickly. Recently, while sorting through his old matchbox cars, he stumbled upon Lightning McQueen and a downcast Tow Mater and said, “I don’t mind if we get rid of these.”
Toy Story didn’t grab him, nor did any of the superheroes that enthrall his friends. Batman, Spiderman, Captain America—he met each one with confusion that many interpreted as disdain. One teacher even labeled him “aloof,” worrying that my son was too dignified for dress-up time. I considered the opposite extreme, a child I’ll call “Johnny,” who wouldn’t take off his homemade superhero costume even in sweltering heat. Adults thought Johnny was adorable—they got him, while I felt misunderstood.
An old photo of mine captures a moment from childhood where my cousins, all decked out in silly disguises, are clearly having a blast. But there I am, a lone figure, sitting quietly and refusing to join in.
Fast forward to two years ago: my son dressed in skateboard gear for Halloween, while his friends transformed into Flash Gordon and the Joker. He struck a tough-guy pose, almost saying, “I’ll wear a costume when they build a skate ramp on the moon.” Despite this, the three boys are close, bonding over Minecraft and Pokémon cards—both rooted in fantasy worlds. When Beau first got into these games, I thought it was a phase, like a late-arriving tooth.
Yet, I doubt he’ll ever don the cape of superhero adoration. Earlier this summer, I took him to the library, armed with a list of recommended graphic novels from a friend whose son is now a teenager. Most of the popular titles were checked out, leaving us with a couple of Pokémon books and one lonely Spiderman graphic novel. As we headed to the car, I tried to pique his interest in the comic. “If Spiderman were here,” I said, “he would scale the wall in no time.”
Beau gave me a perplexed look, almost embarrassed. “Please don’t say ‘Spiderman’ in public, Mommy. I don’t like it when you embarrass me.”
This article originally appeared on Sep. 10, 2015.
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Summary
In this lighthearted reflection on the disconnect between fantasy and reality, the author shares her struggles to engage with popular fantasy narratives, a sentiment echoed in her son’s own disinterest in superheroes and elaborate worlds. While she appreciates the artistry involved, her preference for reality is evident, leading to humorous situations that highlight their unique perspectives.