I love Deathstroke! I was 12 in 1980 when Deathstroke appeared

Hear the words of Rob Liefeld, the artist who would himself become a creator of legends: “I love Deathstroke! I was 12 in 1980 when Deathstroke appeared in ‘Teen Titans’ #2.” Though brief, these words burn with the fire of memory, carrying us back to the sacred moment when a boy first encountered a figure of myth upon the page. For many see comic books as entertainment alone, but to the young, they are gateways to possibility, sparks that awaken creativity, and mirrors that reflect both fear and desire. Liefeld’s confession is not simply about a character; it is about the power of inspiration that shapes the destiny of a life.

In the year 1980, the mighty pages of DC Comics gave birth to Deathstroke the Terminator, a mercenary unlike others. Ruthless, cunning, and complex, he was no simple villain but a warrior whose presence elevated the world of the Teen Titans. For a boy of twelve, the encounter with such a figure was more than a passing thrill. It was the moment when imagination collided with identity, when ink on paper became a vision etched upon the soul. Liefeld’s love of Deathstroke was not casual—it was formative, seeding in him the very passion that would one day lead him to craft heroes and villains of his own.

So it has always been in the story of humanity: the young are stirred by symbols greater than themselves. Consider Alexander the Great, who as a boy read with awe the tales of Achilles. The warrior-hero of Homer’s Iliad was to him what Deathstroke was to Liefeld: a figure larger than life, a model of power and determination, imperfect yet compelling. Inspired by Achilles, Alexander sought to surpass him, carrying Homer’s epic wherever he marched. So too did Liefeld, once a child inspired by the mercenary of fiction, grow into an artist who would shape entire worlds of his own.

What Liefeld reveals in his words is the sacred role of heroes and villains in shaping imagination. The boy of twelve does not yet know where life will carry him, but he knows the thrill of recognition—the sense that within the panels of a comic lies something he must carry forward. In honoring that moment, Liefeld honors the very roots of his journey. To say “I love Deathstroke” is not merely to praise a character, but to bow in gratitude to the spark that ignited his own creative fire.

There is also a lesson here about the enduring power of youth’s passions. Many dismiss the loves of childhood as fleeting, yet those passions often prove eternal. The music that moved us, the stories that enthralled us, the characters that captured our imaginations—these remain as guiding stars long after the world tells us to set them aside. Liefeld never forgot Deathstroke, just as Alexander never forgot Achilles. Both knew that the inspirations of youth are not to be abandoned, but cultivated into greatness.

The wisdom for us is this: cherish what stirred your soul when you were young. Return to those moments of wonder, for they carry within them the seeds of your destiny. Do not be ashamed of your youthful obsessions; instead, recognize them as signs pointing toward who you were meant to be. If you loved stories, create them. If you loved building, construct. If you loved leading, guide others. For the passions of childhood are not accidents—they are whispers of the future.

And so, let the words of Rob Liefeld echo as teaching: honor the inspirations of your youth, for they may shape the works of your adulthood. The boy who loved Deathstroke became the man who gave the world Deadpool and Cable. The seed became the tree. So too may it be with you: guard the sparks that first lit your imagination, and fan them into flames that may light the world. For what stirs the heart of a twelve-year-old may yet guide the hand of the creator, the leader, the dreamer in the years to come.