This is a story about how black superheroes can save your life.

In 1987 at the age of 7, my twin brother, John, was accused of shoplifting from a big box store in Greensboro, N.C., by an older white lady. Even as numerous employees confirming that he had not stolen anything, my mother and I watched as John was patted down in a full body search in the front of the store. After he was proven innocent, his accuser insisted: “Boys like him always steal.”

That night, my father gave John and I “the talk” — the one explaining the difficulties we will face due to the color of our skin. The talk was far from uplifting.

Being black sounded like it was going to suck; the whole incident did a number on my self-image.

John and our older sister Candace seemed to do a better job at adjusting. John was a star athlete, giving him an outlet to build his confidence and develop social skills. Candace had a personality to which people were naturally drawn. But I was the smallest, the most reserved, and when I met new people I was always afraid they had motive to physically or mentally abuse me.

I developed obsessive-compulsive quirks, such as chewing my food (and my fingers) in seven bites at a time, and walking everywhere seven steps at a time. I would spend hours hiding in my room. I became an average student because I didn’t see the point in improving my mind. I would have fallen in with the wrong crowd, were I not afraid to interact with anyone outside of my family.

Lessons about black heroes in our school were not extensive, to say the least. There was one chapter on slavery in our history books, and one brief lesson on the Civil Rights movement. Mom and dad involved us in the NAACP and frequently talked about black history at home. But my underdeveloped perspective and mangled self-esteem only reinforced my idea that I was doomed to be nothing more but a victim of systemic racism.

But my parents were tenacious. In the summer of 1993, my father noticed my budding comic book collection and saw an opportunity. He took me to a comic book shop and asked an employee to bring out anything with black heroes.

The dealer pulled out a stack of Milestone Comics: Icon #1, Hardware #1, Blood Syndicate #1, and Static #1.

I felt the impact of seeing so many black and latino superheroes immediately. Even before reading a single word, I was drawn to these characters more than any I had previously known.

Milestone comics were unlike anything I had ever seen from a visual perspective, too. The illustrations were inventive and each character’s series offered their own aesthetic. I was moved by everything from the use of color to the texture of the pen strokes. You feel a certain type of energy in an artist’s work when they have the creative license to express themselves freely. A piece of their soul jumps out at you. When done properly, comic art can say more than any words can express.

Milestone was a subsidiary of DC Comics, founded in June 1993. Usually having such a huge brand behind you means a strong executive hand seizes all of the power. In the case of Milestone, however, the founders, Dwayne McDuffie, Denys Cowan, Michael Davis, and Derek Dingle maintained full creative control over their creations.

At a time when people of color had less influence in the media than they do now, it was liberating to learn it was possible for me to create something innovative and maintain my integrity.

Milestone comics made me suddenly aware that other comic books could be formulaic. Those tormented hero backstories that I once thought were interesting in other titles suddenly seemed predictable by comparison. The usual good-guy-versus-bad-guy battles became tired. I could see the epic crossover issue coming a mile away. Such tropes made for a decent read, but it didn’t connect on the same level as Milestone’s characters.

Here were superheroes dealing with real life issues such as drug abuse, homosexuality, disease, displacement, and bullying, just to name a few. They were fighting battles against evil, and against themselves, in ways that paralleled the world I was living in. And still they emerged as heroes.

Through these stories I gained a new perspective of the world, which increased my tolerance and compassion towards others.

The Milestone character that had the greatest influence on shaping my identity is Virgil Hawkins, better known as Static. Standing in that shop, I could hardly take my eyes off of the cover of Static #1.

The simple image of a black teenager wearing a Malcolm X hat and shooting a bolt of lightning from one hand to the other is striking enough, but there was something else compelling about this him that I could not put my finger on.

It was not until days later that it hit me: This guy looked like me. He was a scrawny, dark-skinned, unassuming, geeky kid who didn’t fit in, couldn’t get the girl he wanted, and generally lacked self confidence. Reading Static was like looking into a mirror and staring back at me was a boy with great power and potential.

For the first time, I was a hero.

Over the next couple of years I developed some confidence and developed as a painter, illustrator, and musician. The other kids at school started to recognize me as an artist, and that rocked my world.

Before Milestone, I saw myself as a kid doomed to society’s hatred. Now I was that kid who could do art. At last I believed something positive about myself.

I have always felt there is a difference between knowing and believing. A child can come to know that it has potential through frequent, positive affirmation. But to believe in that potential — that has to be nurtured. My parents always told me that I could be great in spite of the racial struggles that lay ahead, but I didn’t actually believe it until I saw heroes that looked like me.

It’s been 23 years since I was introduced to the Milestone franchise, but it is still where I draw much of my inspiration. Today, I am a filmmaker, photographer, and musician trying to create something that inspires people the way I was inspired by Icon, The Blood Syndicate, Hardware, Static, and many more.

The imprint was killed off in 1997, though some of the characters carried over to other DC titles and cartoons. (Static is now a member of the Teen Titans.) Despite the popularity of comic characters such as Marvel's Black Panther — soon to be scripted by Ta-Nehisi Coates — there is no longer a whole comic book universe with predominantly minority characters.

I think about the child I was, and about the children who collect comics in 2016. In the era of issues like Islamophobia and police brutality, their self image may be more under assault than ever. What inspiration do they have?

The more we can repeat the success of Milestone, the more everyone can see themselves as a hero.