To James Gladstone Ridler. You watched as I injected my eyeballs with awful horror films, comic books, and pro wrestling, and politely enjoyed them from the sidelines. And yet you gave me a powerful lesson on storytelling. When I took you to see an X-Men movie, I realized you had no idea who the X-Men were but went anyway just to be with your son. “Dad,” I asked, “did you have any idea what the hell was going on in that flick?” Your response? “Sure. Good guys were underdogs and the bad boy liked the redhead.” Plus ça change. Thanks for all the love and support for your misfit son.