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Permission granted by author for anyone to distribute this
writing free of charge (including translation into any
language)...under condition that no profit is made therefrom,
and that it remain intact and complete, including title and 
credit to the original author.

Ezekiel J. Krahlin
http://surf.to/gaybible
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KUDOS

© 2004 by Ezekiel J. Krahlin
(Odin's Queer Witness)

I grew up reading Mad Magazine, as one of my childhood escapes from the doldrums of elementary school and catechism classes...and a rather conservative, cold Protestant/Catholic family. Now, I realize Mad's not for most adults who enjoy more sophisticated parody, but it sure was a satisfying "forbidden fruit" for loner kids like myself, whose nerdiness and strange allergies often forced us into isolated lives, even at school among our peers. For us, Mad Mag was a wholesome rebellion against conformism and bullies; for our kind grew cynical at an early age, already awakened (at least in part) to "family values" hypocrisy and adult dictatorship.

I discovered Mad at a large variety store (across the street from Nunley's Happyland & Jolly Rogers on Hempstead Turnpike), where I'd often lose myself among science fiction paperbacks and fantasy mags...somewhere around the age of nine or ten. (I was a precocious reader...instead of praising me, my father'd often taunt: "You think you're such a know-it-all." My fantasy world was my compensation.)

Many Sundays were spent with relatives in Brooklyn, who played Michigan Rummy and Pokeno while I sat like a diminutive elf on a vast, cushiony couch bursting with flower petals and butterflies. I often took pleasure then, reading the latest issue of Mad Magazine, after purchasing a copy at the corner candy store run by an old, old man with thick eyeglasses, whose face I no longer remember...and in fact, never even thought about until this very moment.

I do remember discovering exotic candies, like gummy-red "silver dollars" (raised impression of a founding father on one side), pastel candy buttons on long scrolls of blank white paper, cherry-flavor whistle rings, and other sweetly edible curios I never imagined. I was a child of the sterile 'burbs. Surrealistic candies like these did not exist in the outlands of Long Island. Our housing tract was called the "Arrowhead Development", because living on Shawnee, Mohawk, or Iroquois Drive, one could easily find real arrowheads simply by digging a garden in the backyard.

My childhood was indeed lonely in a profound way--though not at all unusual for children raised in dysfunctional Amerikan nuclear-family homes in the post-war, pre-Beatles 50's. Fortunately I was bright, and blessed by a vivid inner world. Which world was happily populated by many characters out of comic books, sci-fi movies, and, thankfully, Mad Magazines.

But when I became an adult, I put away childish things (as the saying goes), including Mad Mag. Not that I felt "above" such material, but I truly came to enjoy other kinds of humor and parody. It wasn't until a week or so ago--here in The Castro where I've lived and/or hanged out since 1973--that I decided to buy my next issue of Mad...the first one in over 32 years. Truly, nostalgia forced my hand...though in a gentle, friendly manner. It was the June 2004 edition.

"$3.50 - Cheap!" the cover boasted.