Dear Mr. Watterson,
I’m sure you’re working at a more thoughtful pace now, with fewer artistic compromises. Meanwhile, I’d like to tell you how things are at my end.
I’ve grown up with Calvin and Hobbes, and they are part of my daily life. I freely quote them and their philosophy. I own books and I’m part of C&H communities online.
Calvin & Hobbes are all over my cubicle and home.
In fact, I’ve struck lifetime friendships beginning with one question – Are you a Calvin and Hobbes fan? The credo I live by is – From now on, I’ll connect the dots my own way.
I’ve been with them building snowmen, riding toboggans, and even in the transmogrifier. I’ve played Calvinball, shuddered at the thought of Rosalyn and travelled with them in the time machine. They help me think, put things in perspective and inspire me to deal with everyday situations.
But I’m not here to tell you how they’ve influenced me. That, I’m sure, you know very well. I just want to tell you that there are times when I’m completely foxed. Because I’m facing a situation Calvin never did. Which, I’m sure he’d have faced had he lived for longer. They tell me Calvin just vanished. And they say the author doesn’t allow merchandising. Fair enough, Mr. Watterson, I too wouldn’t want to see them on towels and doormats. But on scary nights when I’m seeing my personal bogeymen, I fervently wish I had Hobbes to hold on to.
It may not be right to be greedy, but why shouldn’t I get more of what I love? My entire collection will be a legacy for my children. And grandchildren. And I’m writing to you because one day my grandchildren will sit on my knee and ask me about you. And they might just say, “But you were there in his time. Didn’t you even try to get him write some more?”
2 days ago