Forty years ago today, Star Wars came out and, dare I say, changed the world. Here’s my own Star Wars story.
I didn’t get to see it in May when it first came out. I was in boarding school, and we were having finals and packing to go home for the summer. It was good bye to my friends and teachers for a few months and getting used to the idea of having parents hovering around me all the time. And I was turning sixteen–that magic age when you get your driver’s license (Had I known what a non-even that was, I wouldn’t have cared at all). I went back home to California and signed up for summer school driver’s ed and driver’s training to get that all-important license by the end of summer.
While in summer school (don’t ask me to remember even one of my fellow students from that summer), I kept hearing about this movie that was fantastic. My mother wanted to spend some time with me, so I told her about this film everyone was talking about, so we decided to go to Westwood to see Star Wars. Remember, my mother was (is) a Hungarian immigrant who lived through WWII bombs and major poverty and hunger as a child. Then Hungary went communist. Not the most stable of childhoods, although she had a loving family. She was almost twenty when she and my father escaped and lived in refugee camp for two years in Austria before coming to the US.
I remember the day well. A line snaked around the block and we took our place in it, waited a while, got our seats. Then the lights dimmed and and the now famous, but then revolutionary, scroll rolled out over the screen. I didn’t come back to this planet for the next two hours. To say I was blown away is understatement. The movie encompassed and portrayed everything a naive, yet intelligent dreamer believes in. I walked out with my insides cheering, energy bubbling through my veins, and a huge grin on my face.
My mother, on the other hand, said, “I didn’t like it.”
I was incredulous. How could she not like it? It had good guys and bad guys, and the good guys win. The action was incredible, the effects amazing. It carried you off to a different world. Nope. She didn’t like it and didn’t understand it.
We’ve had many a conversation since then, and a few things have become clear to me. As my mother claims, she doesn’t understand fantasy or imagination. She doesn’t understand how escapism helps anything, and she views the world as it is. Her favorite reading is non-fiction, and if she reads fiction, it had better have a deep, deep serious meaning. And yes, she has admitted that she doesn’t understand how I can write books or come up with stories. She doesn’t have stories in her head. The world is as it is. She believes that’s because of her childhood and experiences.
Me? Well, I went on to see Star Wars five more times that summer, and countless since then. I took my sister the next few times and for the all the sequels. Star Wars spoke to the morally rigid, naive sixteen-year-old I was, and in many ways still am. I believe in the good guy and the good fight, wish the world could be more black and white (although really the shades of gray–not 50–give more interest to the world), and believe that deep down most people are good. Sometimes we just have to remind them of it. Loudly.
Books I’m reading now:
Redshirts by John Scalzi
The Librarians and the Lost Lamp by Greg Cox