Would I be a Gem Mint 10.0, flawless and captivating... standing proud for the collecting world to see? Having never been touched... never been read... a heavenly vision of perfection?

Or would I be a 6.5, a fine copy having been well read, but handled with moderate care... loved and appreciated like a good comic should?

And would I also be like a genie in a bottle... If rubbed three times what Tales of Suspense would I tell?

Would I tell you of a heroic Angel with wings: a "Child of the Atom", a student from Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, whose accidental exposure to radiation causes him to go temporarily mad?

Or would I tell you of the origin of Hawkeye: the incredible archer with the skills and talent to make both William Tell and Robin Hood decry with envy!

Or would I tell you of the very first battle between the Golden Avenger: the Iron Man and the Star Spangled Avenger: Captain America... the bravest and most noble hero of them all!

And would I not tell you of my creators and the genesis of my creation? The writer: the great Stan Lee, creator of the Marvel Method... and of the legendary artists: Steve Ditko, Don Heck and Gil Kane... of how they envisioned me... molded me from ideas to story... from a rough draft and a handful of conceptual sketches to a plotted -script and illustrated story boards... to a printed four color comic straight out of the presses?

And would I also tell you of the people who read me: of the little boy who plucked me fresh off a newsstand rack, and ran his soft tiny fingers along my cover as if in a wide-eyed trance, who quickly ran home to read every newsprint page from cover to cover, and gleaned the virtues and wisdoms and morals of my tales like an Aesop fable?

And would I tell you of this same child who proudly carried me off to school on the very next day, to tout me like a gleaming golden jewel, who shared my stories with other fascinated children, who passed me around and devoured me like an object in show and tell... to spread my tales far and wide?

Would I also tell you that child grew up to be a man... and of that sad and tearful day when I was sold off to a Local Comic Shop to raise money for his education?

Would I tell you of the lonely years wallowing in the back issue bins... in an acid free Mylar bag waiting for someone else to choose me? And of the magical day when one such person did and took me into his home to be read again, and to take my rightful place and stand proud with my peers... other vintage comics in a storied collection?

And would I tell you of my last days: after nearly 38 years of storytelling life... that I was put under the microscope like a lab rat, and encapsulated in a protective plastic well... a cage with golden bars... fossilized like a dinosaur?

Such is my tale.

And what is yours?

SW3D

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