I had a fascinating conversation with some of my students this term about Spiderman.
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I have a cardboard cut-out of Spiderman hanging in my classroom and am often asked “why?” to which I ask the student rather smugly “why doesn’t every classroom have one?” Normally the class will laugh, slightly pityingly and the lesson will continue. In this instance however, the girl told me in simple terms that Spiderman sucked. Holding back my righteous anger and staying my hand as it reached for the sword I keep hidden beneath my desk, I responded instead with a restrained, “so why’s that then?”
She calmly explained that Spiderman was for little kids. Assailed with that kind of logic, I calmed the class and decided that, in order to maintain my sense of decorum, we should continue learning about African drumming. However, as the lesson ended and the class began again to discuss the merits or lack of comics, I couldn’t restrain myself.
Though the rage was boiling inside me and temptation to launch into a tirade of abuse was almost overwhelming, I took deep breaths and spoke calmly. The comment I made was that I thought it was a dangerously limiting belief to think that the addition of pictures to a story made it any less relevant or enjoyable. I used the obvious comparison of a movie to support my point.
Feeling better now that the natural order of the world was restored, I continued with my day.
