When Comics Aren’t So Funny

When I was little, Dad would read the Sunday comics from the Houston Post to me after church. “Peanuts” was on the front page like it still is today, except it’s in the Chronicle instead. I liked that one, “Snuffy Smith,” “Dennis the Menace,” “B.C.” and “The Wizard of Id.” By elementary school, I might not have understood everything, but I was reading them myself, and somewhere around middle school I was reading the daily comics as well.

Dad and I have maintained that love for the comics. When Dad was out at sea, we would save the section of the paper with the comics and the Jumble puzzle, and he would dig through them when he returned. Later, sometimes one would call and ask the other, “Did you see _____ today?” And the other would either laugh at the memory or head for the paper to find it. Dad collects business cards, and when he would see a comic strip that reminded him of someone, he would cut it out and put it into a binder with the person’s business card. He has several about teachers with mine. When my niece was young, she liked the “Garfield” strip, and Dad started cutting those out and saving them for her. She’s not as interested in it now—or maybe not at all—but he still saves them for her every day.

He started putting checkmarks next to the strips as he read them. That was a few years ago when he was in the early stages of dementia. At one point, he would remember them for a while after reading them in the morning but not later in the day, so the checkmarks let him know that he had read the comics. Sometimes he would make a note next to the strip, talking back to it like he does to television programs. Next came needing the checkmarks because shortly after reading the comics, he wouldn’t remember reading them. While I haven’t asked, I suspect that now after he has read two or three past a comic, he doesn’t remember the earlier one. Throughout those changes, he did understand what he read and smiled or laughed when appropriate.

I noticed a year or so ago that on some comics he would put a question mark. I didn’t think it was that weird because I don’t get some of them. Plus, he was differentiating between the ones he understood and the ones he did not, which showed he could still analyze.

To save a little money, I get hard copies of the paper only part of the week and read the other days’ papers online. I still prefer the hardcopy, so Mom and Dad will offer me the papers that I don’t get if I see them on those days. It struck me this week how many question marks Dad puts now. On the page of colored comics from Monday’s paper, fifteen of the twenty-one strips have checkmarks. I know it’s not that many every day—Tuesday’s has nine— yet more than a few is still strange to me. Not the dad I know, or knew. It was clear why he didn’t get some of them such as one referencing Harry Potter or one that had some Spanish phrases in it or the new word “adulting,” but I was amazed at others.

In “Peanuts,” Dad didn’t catch the phrase “‘in’ expressions,” as in “All systems are go!” when astronaut Snoopy is preparing to blast off. “F Minus” is a single panel with one man playing miniature golf, his golf cart behind him, and a worker telling him, “Sir, I’m going to have to tell you again that personal carts are not allowed here at Li’l Putt-Putt.” That miniature golf courses don’t have carts escaped him. A few times I’ve tried explaining comics to him, either from the paper or one I found on Facebook, and even with the explanation he doesn’t understand.

Thankfully, at this point, he does still get many of them, often without any explanation, and he’ll range from a smile to a chuckle to bursting out laughing when he thinks it’s funny. His laugh hasn’t changed. It’s still infectious. 

Regularly, when I am over, he will come into the kitchen and show me one from that day that he thought was especially funny or pertinent. He leaves the page on the table at his place with a special mark by it. Then, when he comes into the kitchen because he hears my voice, he sees the paper and can remember to share it. A few times he’s given me a comic strip he cut out that reminded him of me, like the one with the woman telling her dog, “Listen, you can’t be a group therapy dog if you keep chewing the talking stick.” He put a question mark by it, but he made the connection between it and the therapy work I do with my dogs. And yes, they will chew the talking stick as well as sneak a bite of a snack or swipe tennis balls from the walkers given half a chance.

I don’t know what Courtney does with the “Garfield” strips, if she even reads them. I’m trying to pare down what I keep, and when there are question marks, it makes the comic bittersweet. But I can cut that off, and they don’t take up much space in the box with his letters from when he was sailing, and one day it will be a good reminder of the happy normal that we had.