It was about an unnamed family -- mom, young adult daughter, teenage son, younger son -- drawn in grotesquely realistic detail.
They spoke in nearly incomprehensible slang and had bizarre customs. There was an "ice box" instead of a refrigerator, a gigantic radio instead of a tv. They bathed in a tub in the kitchen.
Confused, repelled, yet fascinated, I tried to decipher the strips day after day, week after week. The world they portrayed was vastly different than the world I knew.
Boys in my world did not touch each other, except during sports matches and fights. We were expected to find physical contact abhorrent. But in Out Our Way, boys un-selfconsciously pressed against each other, draped their legs over each other's bodies, hugged, slept in the same bed
What sort of world was this?
Many years later, I found that the comics I read in the 1960s were reruns from the 1930s and 1940s, and even then, many had been nostalgic, evoking the author J.R. Williams' childhood at the turn of the century.
I was gazing into a time capsule, into a era when heterosexual desire was expected to appear at the end of adolescence, not at the beginning, so teenage boys were free from the "What girl do you like?" chant.