A Tribute to the Genius of Calvin and Hobbes
I have been making my way through The Complete Calvin and Hobbes, a three volume collection of Bill Watterson’s genius cartoon that follows the spastic boy Calvin and his not-so-run-of-the-mill stuffed tiger, Hobbes, from the first strip in 1985 to the last in 1995. I am a third of the way through volume three, and I must say that I haven’t had so much fun reading in a long time. If you have never read Calvin and Hobbes before, or think that comic strips are silly, or boring, or not for you, I urge you to give Calvin and Hobbes a try. I don’t think you’ll be disappointed.
My love for Calvin and Hobbes runs deep. I remember reading the strip as a child, and as the years have gone by the strip has only grown more entertaining and stimulating for me. One of the things you will find if you read the strip with any regularity is the way that Watterson asks big questions about God, the meaning of life, and the importance of relationships through a comic strip about a boy and his stuffed tiger. I won’t expound any of my thoughts on such things at the moment, but you can be sure that there will be future posts dedicated to some of these strips that pose such deep questions. For now, though, I want to share with you a poem I wrote in college dedicated to my favorite comic strip of all time. I hope you enjoy.
What I Do Instead of Homework
A poem by Jesse Moss
Perusing the pages
of a Calvin and Hobbes collection
I find myself chuckling aloud
at the imagination of this six-year old.
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One moment he is Stupendous Man,
thwarting the evil Mom-Lady’s endeavors
to consign his alter-ego Calvin to school
or upstairs to finish his homework,
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and the next he is a T-Rex
devouring his fellow students
as the teacher lines them up
to go in after recess.
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In one particularly hilarious frame
Calvin milks his creative ingenuity
to elucidate to his mother why
instead of completing his homework
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he is standing in his tightie whities,
only to find that this time
his explanation is not enough
to keep him from punishment.
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But as I thumb through the pages,
finding every strip equally funny,
I begin to consider
certain incongruities in the text.
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For instance, the mystery of how
the vocabulary of a six-year old
is at many times equal to or exceeding
that of a college graduate.
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Or how in three to four frames
Calvin can explain the meaning of life,
outwitting any long-winded philosopher
or well-intentioned poet.
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And then there is the fact
that the baby-sitter always—always—
seems to fall for Calvin’s witty schemes
to eject her from house or drive her insane.
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But then I turn the page and see a Sunday strip—
giving Calvin more space to maneuver
than the weekly three-to-four frames
to which he is normally confined—
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and see the mastery of comedy
as Calvin contemplates whether or not
it is worth docking points with Santa
to nail little Suzie with a snowball
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and comes to the conclusion
that it is more than worth the sacrifice.
