Say My Name

After reading through recent discussions at See Kyle Draw, I want to do something earth-shattering. Yes, I do want to draw comics someday, but that's not what I'm talking about. I want to use my real name. Do away with the Simon moniker and all it's baggage. But. I can't.

If you don't feel like reading through it all, the above discussions were sparked by a big combination of things that are certainly large parts of my life. The role of comic books, superheroes, sexual identity, the ideals of heroism, the boundaries of geek culture...the list goes on... and made me want to open my yap and spew forth, talking about kids and popular media from the perspective of a gay dad of two young boys who are starting to embrace and imitate all that they see and hear. Which I'd love to comment on, but not sure how right now.

Somehow, the thing that hit me hardest, were a few comments about using your real name to represent yourself.

I started to write. And it went on and on. I had it all ready to go and it came to sign my name. I wanted to use my actual name I use in everyday life. Of course I didn't have to, but I felt a need to. But I still couldn't bring myself to do it. So I just scrapped all my thoughts and tried to forget about it. Enough was probably said about it anyway, no need to clutter up another comments section with my additional undecisive babble.

Some people that read this do know the name behind Simon. The guy that sits at his desk and works too much and worries too much. The one who is bold one minute and scared the next. The one who is often slow as molasses. But speedy when the right switch is flipped. They have become good souls to talk to. So obviously, I'm not adverse to using my real name in conjunction with my sexual orientation. Call me a fag or slap a pink triangle on me. Bring it on, I say. You won't get much retaliation, though, so you probably shouldn't waste your time. I'm awful at fighting back...

My biggest fear? That someone will come hunt down those that are important to me. When they find out that I do have kids. To go on a self-imposed mission to separate me from my monkeys and even my wife. Or even worse take out their hatred of me on them. Is the fear unwarranted? I truly don't know anyone who would do this. But it terrifies me.

Then it makes me think, perhaps the desire I have for "helping" people is as delusional as the blind crusader who I fear. It seems the definition of help contains a matter of perception and always involves an intrusion, whether it be wanted or not. Perhaps this is why I have problems being social and offering opinions. We all affect each other and I don't want to be the source of the ripples in a negative way. So most of the time I don't say anything at all, other than an off handed forgettable agreement..

I can't control the universe and all it's intricacies, the things we call "right" and "wrong". Hell, I can't even control my own mind sometimes. I can't bring myself to do this one little thing. In the end it's really not even a big deal. So what is my real name? The one I think it is or the one that was given to me?

A Bit Rattled,
Simon

PS. Case in point. I hope I never get into a real conversation like this. I'd get ripped to shreds. Things like this make me want to curl up in the fetal position. Or go mate with a hermaphroditic frog out of spite.