Who am I, you ask? Are you sure you want to know? You say you want hear the story of my life. That story is not for the faint of heart.
If somebody said that my story was happy little tale, if somebody told you I was just your average, ordinary guy without a care in the world. . .
. . . Then somebody lied.
Mine is the story of a boy whose parents died when he was four years old. It's the tale of a scared, lonely, confused chiles grasping the hand of a social worker as if it meant his very life, then releasing that grasp to go live with an aunt and uncle he hardly knew
It's the story of a lonely childhood spent with books and chemistry sets, rather than other kids, as best friends.
Yes, mine is a tale of pain and sorrow, loss and grief, longing and heartache, anger and betrayal. And that just covers the high-school years.
My story, like so many worth telling, is also about a boy and a girl. About true feelings kept bottled up for years, about a lonely, shy boy desperate to tell the girl how he felt, yet so terrified of rejections, that he kept his those feelings hidden until he felt he might explode.
The girl? Her name is Mary Jane Watson. M.J. To her friends. She's the woman he loved since before he even knew he liked girls.
The boy? I'm sure you've guessed. The boy is Peter Parker.
Who am I ? Well, you did ask. I go by the name . . . Spider-Man!
