'Black Lightning' Review: It's Lit

When I was a little girl, my mother didn’t buy me clothes with white people on them.  It was her way of making sure I didn't idolize the litany of white characters on television and in books.  I never really noticed until I was older when I was shopping for my niece and was reluctant to the do the same (I literally made her Gryffindor gear with my bare hands.  She raised a proper blerd, don't worry).  As long as I had my Michael Jackson t-shirt or Care Bears nightgown, I was happy. 
 
As I watched Black Lightning from the new CW superhero series and electrocute racist cops that told him to “get his black ass on the ground” and his daughters hold their own against their own personal villain, I felt my inner eight-year-old giggle with glee in a way she rarely had.  Because I saw myself eagerly saving my allowance to buy a Black Lightning shirt instead of my Michael Jackson cards.  Is this why kids love comic books?  Because they get to see themselves and their stories reflected back and heightened by imagination and fantasy?  Because it's so easy to envision themselves as the savior?  

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