Are they gone yet?
The ones who were beginning to creep me out for some unknown reason. Are they gone?
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away...
I was 6 years old.
My father took me to the movies. Mom took me to see Bambi and Snow White et al. Dad? He took me to see Bond films and Airplane and a little movie called Star Wars.
Back then, you see, it was simply Star Wars. You said those words and everyone knew what you were talking about. A single movie in which a whiny little punk got hisself the Force and saved the day. No one asked you which episode. The titles were the titles. Everyone knew what "Empire" was. Everyone knew what "Jedi" was.
In my fantasy world of rainbows and unicorns Episodes 1-3 do not exist.
So Dad took me to the movies, and I came out of it changed for life. If you're in your late 30s or early 40s it's pretty much a given that it changed you for life. Unless you have a heart of stone. And if you do, I don't want to talk to you.
I wanted to be that whiny little punk. Leia was ok, and back then I had no idea that Carrie Fisher was to become my goddess of all things crazy, but I really wanted to be Luke. I got Star Wars people. Did anyone call them action figures yet? I don't think so. Everyone I knew called them Star Wars people. And they got played with. Holy hell they got the kid treatment. I walked down the street one day and discovered that my friend Alan had hung one of my Luke guys by the neck from the sycamore tree in his front yard. If I recall correctly, he got a beating for that. They went on mad adventures in my head. I was too self-conscious to have them speak aloud to each other, because I always got caught. In my head though they had deep, meaningful conversations along the lines of "what shit do we blow up next?"
And I was a girl.
Circa 1982 my father bought me the Millenium Falcon. Oh that toy was rad. I carefully applied the decals to it, being OCD even then, and loaded it up with guys and they would fly around my house like crazy until the sheer size of it would prove cumbersome and the whole thing would crash to the floor. I lost a windshield panel. The dish on the top of it broke. I played with that thing until it essentially fell apart. I was in my 20s.
But I still have it.
In the late 90s when they rereleased the violated enhanced versions of the movies they reissued the toys as well. The action figures were oddly buff, but I bought some anyway. I bought an X-Wing. And I bought a Falcon. I justified these purchases by claiming that they were for a kid I knew I would never have. They got packed away, from place to place, until they ended up in the attic here. I never even considered trying to sell them someday. Toys are for playing. Even if I dug them out at age 60, they would be played with.
Along came Livvie. I decided they would be hers. Every September brings me closer to the day I hand them all to her and tell her to go to town. Today she had no interest in the movies yet, but hey, she's 3. I figure when she's 6 I'll sit her down to watch them. I'm halfway tempted to give her the Falcon now. I know it would end up destroyed though and not be available when she finally gets it. So I occasionally cast my eyes to the attic steps and feel a niggling sensation in my chest. It will happen someday.
And Jonas is gonna be so pissed.