When I was a boy, I discovered Cerberus The Aardvark at a comic book shop in Boston. I picked up issue six (“The Secret”) and laughed at the adventures of the barbarian aardvark. The whole thing was ridiculous. But I did not expect the heartbreaking ending.

I was amazed I was reading the comic book at all. At the time, there was Marvel and DC, and that was it. But I was becoming aware that there was a whole culture of underground comic books. It was exciting to see a medium I thought I knew tell different and unexpected stories.

For decades I wanted to read the first few issues of Cerberus. This was before the Internet and eBay. Issue one was beyond my means. Eventually, Cerebus was collected in volume editions which I never got around to purchasing. But then came the pandemic, and I decided I’m a middle-aged man; for crying out loud, I can spend $40 on a comic book! And I picked up volume one, which contains the first 25 issues of Cerebus.

And there it sat on my bookshelf, unwrapped and unread, for over a year.

I love Cerebus, but I was twelve when I first started reading the comic book. I was afraid to go back. I didn’t want my memories tarnished. What if it was terrible? But tonight, I decided to crack the book finally, after all these years, read the first issue.

It wasn’t bad.

I didn’t laugh. I don’t think I even smiled. But writer/artist David Sims told a great yarn. His style, rough as it was, was evident. Cerebus himself hadn’t settled into his final form. His snout is far too long, his face and body ill-defined. He’s wearing a Barry Windsor Conan helmet. But it’s still recognizably Cerebus.

I’m excited to see how he evolves into the aardvark I know and love.

Tomorrow I’ll read issue two.