Boy vs. Shark - Paul Gilligan

In the summer of 1975, I was ten years old, and the only things I had to worry about were keeping my comic books untarnished, getting tennis balls off roofs, and keeping up with the increasingly bold stunts of my best friend David. And then Jaws came to town.

Growing up across the street from your best friend is both joyous and convenient. But ten years in, diverging interests can get harder to ignore, especially as you stumble toward “manhood.” You might find yourself trying to bridge the divides in any ways possible. In my case, it was by watching a movie about a giant killer shark. For a boy who was barely keeping up as it was, going to this movie was a test of my manhood that could not be avoided. So I asked my dad to take me.

Once I’d made the decision to go, I was excited to see it — partly to prove my bravery and partly to become part of a massive cultural phenomenon. There were parodies, games, a hit novelty song, even a Saturday morning cartoon based on the shark. Everyone was seeing this movie. How bad could it be?

Turns out, pretty bad. 
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I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised. The poster was rather clear. Far from proving my courage, Jaws left me a cowering mess. All seeing it did was further underline the growing gap between myself and David, as well as the distance between where I stood and the world’s expectations of a boy’s “manliness.” I couldn’t go near water of any kind. I saw sharks everywhere. Jaws himself took up residence in my closet and became the manifestation of all the fears and demands that were overwhelming my life. Not to mention getting salt water all over my comics. 

I’ve never been very good at manly stuff. Car engines were Dr. Seuss-ian contraptions, bikes were best used with both wheels on the ground, and the scariest thing I could handle on TV was Grimace from the McDonald’s commercials (that guy was nuts!). And things didn’t change much as I got older. I’m still going nowhere near a “suicide hot wing.” 

​My individual tastes butted up against my need to fit in, and there was a growing realization that who I was didn’t line up with who some people thought I should be. It hadn’t occurred to me that I was supposed to be “macho” until I was confronted with all the ways I wasn’t. 

Sifting through those days for this memoir made me realize how much of our youth is still swimming around inside us. I guess we’ve all got some version of a giant shark living in our closet. Confronting and overcoming them is part of the process of becoming who we really are. 
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I’ve come a long way since then — I can go in pools now! — but like many of us, whenever I enter a large body of water, I still hear some faint “du-nuh du-nuh du-nuh” music. But I remain determined to keep any sharks from pushing me around, or getting salt water on my comics. 

Paul Gilligan writes and draws the syndicated comic strip Pooch Café, which has been twice nominated by the National Cartoonist Society for best strip. He’s the author/illustrator of the early-reader graphic novel series Pluto Rocket, the chapter book series King of the Mole People, and the graphic memoir Boy Vs. Shark. He lives in Toronto with his wife and kids, where he quite comfortably swims in lakes and pools, as long as nobody makes any “du-nuh” sounds.