I was six when I went to see The Empire Strikes Back. It is the first movie I ever remember
seeing in a theater. I remember being terrified of Darth Vader. When the camera
focuses on those weird walls that look like they are made of teeth and as they open
up, his bald head is revealed as his helmet is being lowered down and back into
position? That is the stuff of nightmares! I remember clinging to my sister in
fear, but loving every minute of it. I had the original Star Wars poster on my wall and probably had the sheets and
comforter to go with them.
I was ten when the first VCR came out. We were still living
in the old house and I remember my sister coming home with a video rental card.
I don’t know when Star Wars was
available for purchase, or how much they cost, but we had them early. My dad
didn’t watch sports. He has never in his life turned on ESPN or a sporting
event (excluding the Olympics.) I didn’t know football was played on
Thanksgiving until after I went to college. What he watched was Star Wars. He
was a cop, so when he came off shift, he liked to wind down by watching TV. We
never had cable growing up (in fact, my parents still don’t), so he liked to
pop in a movie. That movie was always, always a Star Wars. Each one had a
little number written in tape on the side of the box because he could never
remember the names of the movies or the order in which they were filmed. He
would just say, “put on the first one,” or, “I want to watch number three.”
Together, my father and I have watched those movies hundreds of times. My
mother would quietly sit and do needlepoint while ignoring the TV entirely. In
fact, she once asked me, long after this question was one of those pop culture
references that even babies are born knowing, “Was that big black guy Luke’s
father?”
I was twenty-five when The
Phantom Menace was released. I will never forget that frisson of excitement
when the Lucasfilm logo came up on the screen, all neon green and black. A
group of people I knew through an ex-boyfriend were going to sleep out in
shifts in the movie parking lot to get tickets. I volunteered to stay out all
night long because I wanted to fully enjoy the experience. However, I didn’t
want to do it alone. So I called a boy I liked, and asked him to stay out all
night with me. Someone had stolen electricity from the building and had rigged
their TV/VCR to play the original series. (Remember, this was only 1999, doing
that was high tech!) There were lightsaber battles. Come morning, the theater
employees walked around with free water and popcorn to feed everyone. But that
boy and I snuggled under blankets, watched the crowd, and had a great night
together.
I was 27 when I married that boy. We played John Williams at
our wedding and when he texts me, Chewbacca roars. Every. Single Time.
My son was five the first time he watched Star Wars: A New Hope. We had to turn it
off midway through because I thought he was going to give himself a heart
attack. The child didn’t just sit on the edge of his seat, he was literally
standing on the edge of the couch, lunging, parrying, thrusting along with the
action. While his sister was able to remain on her chair, she too, was totally enthralled.
They fell in love at first sight and have never once looked back. She has been
Princess Leia twice (once with the buns, once in the Endor costume. I draw the
line at the gold bikini.) He has been an Ewok, Darth Vader, Luke Skywalker, and
Boba Fett. His room is a Star Wars merchandisers dream. He cannot go through a
day without making the “pew pew, pew pew” noises that indicate he is having a
lightsaber battle in his head. He lives, breathes, and dreams Star Wars.
I was 40 when we took the kids to the opening of the Lego
exhibit at the Franklin Institute, which was celebrated with a day of Star Wars
characters and events. The first time Darth Vader walked by, my daughter cried.
To see the character in the flesh (as it were), very tall, very broad, very
inhuman is actually rather terrifying. Boba Fett, who is roundly adored in my
house, was so foreboding in person that the kids wouldn’t go near him. The many
Stormtroopers all milling about were freaky as you don’t realize how
authoritarian they really are until they all walk in formation down a hall.
Luckily, one of the Stormtroopers saw how distressed my daughter was becoming,
came over, knelt down so he was on her level, turned off his voice changer, and
explained that he was just a guy who loved Star Wars and loved interacting with
kids. I had no idea there was an entire volunteer organization of cosplayers
who go to events, hospitals, and such – but this guy told us all about it. He
calmed my daughter down, got her to laugh, and got her into the spirit of the
event. I never got his name, rank, or serial number, but I will forever be
indebted to that kid in a costume who helped her overcome her fear.
This weekend, we will all sit together to watch The Force Awakens. I bought tickets
before the commercial advertising that they were on sale had finished airing. I
will take my dad, the man who first introduced me to it, my husband, the boy
who stayed up all night with me all those years ago, and the children who we
made in our own geeky image. Three generations of fans will sit together, in
reclining seats, with 3D glasses, and enjoy what I can fervently hope is a good
movie. May the force be with you.
