ME AND TUROK, SON OF STONE
Some of my earliest and fondest memories are of my father reading to me before bedtime. I’m not sure why it was always him and not my mother. Maybe it was just a mutually decided system. My Mom was an elementary school teacher so maybe she was just all “read out” from the day. Perhaps it was because my Dad was an extraordinarily patient man. I was a notoriously inquisitive child and every statement of either fact or fiction required explanation. I imagine that by that time of night I was pretty exhausting to be around.
At first the bedtime stories came from either the “Fat Book” or the “Skinny Book.” I have no real proof, but I suspect the names for those books came from my older brothers. It doesn’t seem like what my father would have chosen. These stories were the classics, “Aladin” “How the Tiger Got His Stripes,” that sort of thing. Like any kid, I liked hearing them over and over. I’m not exactly sure how old I was at this time, but it was before I could read and my early reading age is a family legend, so I must have been pretty young.
Like kids have been since their fossilized discovery I was a dinosaur fanatic. I had lots of those little plastic guys and forced anyone nearby to read the name and length off their little tails. I also had a lot of books about dinosaurs which frustratingly, I couldn’t read. One day, while down at Hearn’s Variety Store, my Dad noticed a comic book with a dinosaur on the front. He bought it and brought it home. That night, instead of the Fat or Skinny books, we read about “Turok, Son of Stone.” Turok and his “Robin”-like sidekick, Andar were American Indians. They had somehow (I never did find out) become separated from their tribe and were now trapped in a sort of Lost World or Jurassic Park. As they journeyed endlessly trying to find their way home, they were forced to battle an array of human-flesh-seeking predators. It was so exciting to have a comic about not only my beloved dinosaurs but bow and arrow using heroes it was easy for me excuse occasional inconsistencies. For example, there were dinosaurs from various periods all clumped together and they would sometimes run across the odd cavemen. It was a comic, after all, and if I had to suspend disbelief for the basic premise these types of things could be overlooked.
Each month thereafter Turok supplanted the Fat and Skinny books for repeated readings. It was while reading one issue that I made my first foray into writing. The dialog balloon in one frame had been overlooked and was blank. I don’t know if it was just my copy or if there was a flawed printing that month, but I was amazed that such an oversight could occur. I decided that it was untenable for there not to be anything there. Andar was in terrible trouble, with a hungry Allosaurus hot on his trail. I told my father it was important for Andar to not remain speechless in such a situation. He decided that it would up to me to put the words into Andar’s mouth. I have always remembered the exact exclamation that began my creative writing.
“Help Turok! He is getting me!”
Not exactly Pulitzer prize stuff, I know, but either was most of their dialog. It served a higher purpose- entertainment. As my Dad penciled in the new plot-driving words I realized it was no longer possible for me to remain illiterate. From now on, it would be slower than ever progressing through Turok’s adventures. Each word needed to be carefully viewed and its meaning verified. It wasn’t long before I was reading all manner of material, although I must say that even to this day, nothing has taken the place of the joy of Turok.
Many years later, I was working on my Master’s Degree in Reading. One assignment was to describe how we learned to read. I was the only one in class to credit the comic book industry. Yep, me and Dad and Turok, Son of Stone.