POPEYE

A few years ago, I began a love affair with Popeye. Of course, I'd known him all my life; he was born in 1929 long before me. I'd see him around with his usual crew - Swee'pea, Bluto, Wimpy - but he just didn't speak to me.
     I'd already been in love with Skeezix, who is even older than Popeye. He was found as a baby by his Uncle Walt and he made his way into my heart when he was a little boy, living with Walt and their African-American mammy-ish maid, Rachel, and his little brown and black terrier, Pal. What drew me to him? I'd say his coloring, the vivid blue and red backgrounds he seemed to live in front of, his readiness for adventure, chronicled in his books - Skeezix Out West, Skeezix in Africa and other exotic  places. I also adored his big blond cowlick, something he shares with Tintin, though I don't think they ever met. Skeezix broke new ground by doing what we all do -- namely growing up. He went through his teenage years and then to college, married, had children and is now rumored to be living in a nursing home where I'm sure he's having grand adventures which I hope he's writing down. But I liked him as a little boy. Well, maybe more than liked.
     Our love affair, like many, eventually wound down. Who can say why? But I've kept some mementos - an oilcloth doll (he's wearing a red onesie), some books and a little bisque figure about three inches high. I look at them sometimes and remember the old days, but I'm not nostalgic. I clearly see it was time to move on. 
     So much time passed without a new love that I gave up hope anyone else would claim my heart. But one day I noticed Popeye, I mean really noticed. His white hat and red and blue sailor suit, those enormous forearms with their manly anchor tattoos, and that odiferous corn cob pipe which I have to admit has saved his life more than once. And of course his cans of spinach, often overflowing, which he can swallow in a single gulp. That leafy green magically turns into superhuman strength so that his biceps soon match his forearms. Who could not love a man like that? Of course, it hasn't escaped my notice that he loves someone else, a string bean named Olive Oyl, who he would pretty much do anything for. Well, nothing is perfect.
     What made me tumble for Popeye, despite our many differences - for instance, he's drawn and I'm not - is something it turns out he says all the time."I yam what I yam and that's all what I yam." As he uttered those words for me the first time, I knew we were kindred spirits. It's true that Popeye came by all that self-acceptance naturally, while it took me many years to really mean it when I said, "I am who I am." I wasted whole eras of time worrying about who I was and afraid of the person I might turn out to be. My default was self-doubt; I just couldn't get comfortable in my own skin.      
     But Popeye's words, spoken in that gruff masculine voice I'm a fool for, made me realize how far I've come. I've left behind huge helpings of fear and doubt, and now it's all right to be who I am, with all my gifts and defects and the many things I know about myself that still need work. I may get on my case from time to time but more often than not I understand that I can't be more than I am and who I am is enough. 
     He's Popeye the Sailor Man, toot toot, and I love him for his innate profundity. I yam what I yam and that's all what I yam. Indeed.