A Patchwork Life

I was born one year after the first Star Wars movie came out, so it has quite literally shaped my initial understanding of popular culture. My older sister was an enormous fan, and the first few Christmases I remember all involve Star Wars toys– a Yoda hand puppet, the entire Ewok playset, and innumerable action figures. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen the original trilogy, and I saw all of the newer three in the theaters, the last at a packed midnight showing with a dear friend who is equally obsessed.

I think there’s more than a few factors that attached me to the movies so deeply– Princess Leia as a swashbuckler in her own right, cuddly teddy-bear-esque Ewoks, the grand and sweeping scope at an impressionable age, the approval of my feared and admired older sister, or the appeal of moral absolutism for a little kid whose early years were somewhat topsy-turvy. There are very few people in my generation entirely unaffected by the Star Wars universe, which is clear in the immortality the movies have achieved thus far.

Recently we finally introduced our girls to the Star Wars universe, and it has been so satisfying. I really wanted to wait until I felt they were old enough, so that the scary parts wouldn’t taint the experience, and so they could entirely grasp all the glory that I remember and cherish. It seems we waited until the perfect age– they’ll be seven in May, and while they still covered their eyes when Obi-Wan and Qui-Gonn died, they were completely enthralled and excited at all the best moments.

So far, the girls have loved some of my favorite childhood books (like the Little House series) and have not enjoyed others (A Little Princess), so I was nervous about this one, and I have surprised myself with how much it meant to me that they fell in love with the galaxy far, far way, just like I did.