So, my first comic. Honestly, there was a long span of time in which I hated superheroes – in fact, I thought they were for kids. Whatever. I was stupid. So, unlike many, my first comic isn’t a Superman or Spider Man book, but, rather, a comic book taking place in a galaxy far, far, away. In fact, I still have it.
Yes, it’s Star Wars #4. When did I get it? How did I get it? Hell if I know. I’m pretty sure it was purchased for me by my parents at a garage sale, but, well, I could be making that up. It was my entry point into comics, and really defined what I read for years. Which was, essentially, all Star Wars comics.
Basically, Star Wars #4 is the comic book adaptation of a part of A New Hope, beginning in the detention level and ending in the group’s escape from the Death Star. It’s pretty great, from both an art and story telling standpoint. Honestly, though, it doesn’t really hold any special sentiment for me. Maybe that’s because, at the time, comics weren’t a big part of my life, as they are now.