I met Stan Lee for the first (and only) time when I was about 13 years old. At that age, meeting a man such as Stan Lee was a highlight of my life, and it not only endured over the years, but became one that would change in meaning more than once as an adult.

It was the early 90’s, and it was a time when comic books were far from mainstream, reserved only for small conventions tucked away in hotel conference rooms. No large convention centers, no cosplay, no media coverage. I didn’t pay any money to see Stan Lee. It didn’t cost me anything to get his autograph. I waited in a line that was about 20 minutes long, and no one was there to usher me away after he shook my hand.

I stood and waited, by myself, among no one but grown men that were twice my age, and more. It was a funny thing to see; grown men standing in line to get their comic books autographed. I always imagined that comics were for kids. I watched each of them walk up, shake his hand, flash a short smile as they chatted, then they’d get their newly signed comics and walk sheepishly away. Finally, it was my turn. As I walked up to him, I only understood him as the man who created Spider-Man. That was enough for me. Spidey was my favorite (still is) and I held a Wizard magazine tightly in my hand as I approached. It’s been over 25 years since this memory took place, but I still remember it fairly vividly. Give or take a few details, it went something like this. Try to NOT read this in Stan’s voice, I dare you.

“Hey there, son, how are you doing?”

“Good.” I placed the Wizard magazine down on the table in front of him. It depicted a cover image of Spider-Man battling the Hobgoblin. “I’m sorry, it’s not really one of your comics.” (I meant one of his original comics. You know, the ones that were worth thousands of dollars.)

“Oh that’s alright. This one looks pretty good too.” He flips the magazine around to face him, and grabs a black sharpie marker. “Let’s see here.”

He signs the magazine, and the glossy coated cover immediately causes the ink to bead up. He looks at me. “Well, that won’t do, now will it?”

He reaches over, finds a gold metallic pen. “Here we go, this should work a bit better.”

He signs the magazine again underneath his original signature, and again, the ink immediately beads up. He looks at it for a second. I imagine by this point the people in line behind me may be getting impatient. I’m holding up the line. Mr. Lee doesn’t care.

“We’re not going to let this get the better of us.” He looks at me as he says this. Then he flips the magazine open and thumbs through the first few pages. He stops on the first white page he comes to, which is the table of contents. He grabs the original black sharpie and signs the magazine a third time.

“There we go. Third time’s the charm,” he says as he flips the magazine closed and hands it over to me.

I take the magazine, absolutely shaking with excitement. He holds out his hand and I shake it. At this point he tells me something, and for the life of me I can’t remember what exactly he says, but anyone out there who has ever met Stan Lee in person can probably imagine what it could have been. (And yes, those photos are current. I still have that issue of Wizard, just as fresh and crisp as the day I bought it.)

At no point was Stan annoyed. At no time did he seem rushed, or impatient. He took his time with this kid, and I walked away a True Believer. Not just in Spider-Man, and the X-Men, and Captain America, Iron Man, and the Avengers, but a believer in his humility. Stan’s grounded view on his creations and the stories he told shone in every issue of Spider-Man he wrote, and his willingness to touch on personal and social issues has kept his characters relevant for generations. I understand now those men that stood with me in line all those years ago. I am that man. I am blessed to live in a day and age where I can openly express my love of comic books, that they are celebrated by the mainstream, and I’m thankful that Stan Lee lived long enough to see his characters not only survive, not only thrive, but flourish, becoming stronger and more important than they’ve ever been.

I am full of emotion today. Stan Lee was an icon and a personal hero. I met him as a kid, one that had dreams and aspirations that I never fulfilled as an adult. I never became the artist I intended to be. But I have a feeling that if I were lucky enough to have met Mr. Lee again as an adult, he would still sign my comics. He’d still shake my hand. And I would still walk away thinking I could accomplish anything. Because for him, it wasn’t about us believing in his creations, it was about him believing in us.

He was the ultimate True Believer.