The boy woke up this morning wanting to go to school, but realizing that he did not feel remotely up to par to go and try and learn. With him as my captive audience, I decided it was high time he see the Star Wars movies in the order in which I saw them: IV-VI and then I-III. We watched Star Wars: A New Hope today. I was excited for him to see it, more than anything because I want him to be ready for the new one when it comes out. We popped the disc in and the iconic "STAR WARS" came on the screen with the music so suddenly that we both jumped. I read the words to the boy and felt a little catch in my throat and this strange moisture coming from my eyes. What is going on? Why such a reaction for Heaven's sake? I knew why. When my brother and I were growing up, these movies were beyond the most amazing things we had ever laid eyes on. It was to us what maybe the Marvel movies are today...but that doesn't even seem to cover it. We were rabid fans, saving every penny and working extra chores to be able to send away for special mail order, box tops required versions of Boba Fett and waiting in lines at department stores to get our autographed pictures of Darth Vader and Boba Fett. My grandmother made us all Star Wars blankets and one Christmas we woke up with freshly made Star Wars pillowcases under our heads. I cried my eyes out and went into mourning when they froze Han Solo. It was quite a franchise and the center of everything we did when we played, toy or make believe. So I guess I embrace the misty mood that hit when I watched with him and again when I watched with G later. I am grateful for the memories generated as a result of all of those characters. My childhood was richer for them.
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