Parenting, Film, and Pop Culture
I was recently caught in an unexpected conversation with my son, Ethan, about the Star Wars saga. “Mom, which Star Wars films have you watched?” he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.
“Honestly, I can’t recall,” I replied, a little sheepishly.
“No, which ones? One, two, three, four, five, or six?” he pressed.
“Umm, one?” I ventured.
“Is that A New Hope?” he asked.
“I guess?” I replied, unsure.
“Did you see the one where Han Solo gets frozen in carbonite?” he inquired eagerly.
“I think so?”
“And who did Princess Leia bring to rescue him?” he prompted.
“I don’t know,” I said, feeling the pressure.
“Guess!” he insisted. “Hint: he’s big and hairy and makes a noise like HNEUW HNEUW HNEUW.”
“Chewbacca?” I finally guessed.
“YES! And she also brings R2D-toon and C-3PO.”
“That’s R2-D2, not R2D-TOON!” I corrected him, chuckling.
“Did you see the one where Darth Vader fights the Emperor?” he continued.
“No, I don’t think I’ve watched that one,” I admitted.
“He does battle him because the Emperor is a Sith,” Ethan explained, eager to share his knowledge.
“Are Siths bad?” I asked.
“Yeah, they’re the villains. Jedi are the heroes,” he responded matter-of-factly.
“Oh,” I said, trying to follow along.
“Matthew has seen all ten movies, even number nine!” he declared.
“Sweetheart, there are only six,” I replied gently.
“No, he said he saw number nine!” he insisted.
“Okay then, if he said so!” I laughed, realizing my son was determined to make his case.
Ethan continued, “In the first movie, you see Anakin Skywalker when he’s just one year old. Guess how old?”
“Um, nine?” I guessed.
“YES! And he grows up to be…” he paused dramatically, “Darth Vader!”
“Right,” I said, finally catching up.
“And you also meet General Grievous, who has four lightsabers!” he exclaimed.
“How do you know that?” I asked, taken aback.
“Because you told me yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before that, all summer long, when I was introduced to the original trilogy of George Lucas’s iconic franchise.”
I must confess: I went through 38 years of my life without watching any Star Wars films. Well, that’s not entirely accurate—I vaguely remember being dragged to see Return of the Jedi but left with no understanding of the hype surrounding it.
Initially, my aversion to Star Wars stemmed from a childhood boy-girl divide. My older brother and cousins were all about spaceships and lightsabers, while I preferred gymnastics and reading. But as I grew older, I realized that many girls loved Star Wars too. My disinterest was less about gender and more about my struggle to connect with mainstream pop culture. In seventh grade, while others gushed over boy bands and teen magazines, I was secretly listening to a Chorus Line LP instead of trying to fit in.
Eventually, I embraced my status as a cultural oddball—the only child of the ’80s who hadn’t seen these films. It became a fun topic at parties; people were often flabbergasted by my admission that I had never experienced what my former girlfriend, an English professor, called one of the “sacred texts of our generation.”
I had fully intended to maintain my position as a Lucas refusenik, that is, until I had kids. One day, my son shouted, “Mom! Rob showed us this movie! Do you know what a lightsaber is?”
Now, my 6-year-old and his 3-year-old brother are obsessed. It’s lightsaber this, lightsaber that, and they constantly quiz me about the films. One day, I walked in to find them playing Star Wars, with Ethan wielding a toy lightsaber and his brother using a broom. “Come, Luke, join me on the dark side, and together we will rule the galaxy,” Ethan commanded. “Okay,” his brother replied.
Eventually, I caved and agreed to watch the first trilogy. I had hoped that perhaps I would finally understand the joy everyone else felt. I wanted to feel that sense of wonder, the thrill of being transported back to childhood. But alas, it was not to be. While I found A New Hope and The Empire Strikes Back entertaining enough, they didn’t captivate me to the point of ignoring my phone or leaving to grab a snack during the climax.
Despite my lack of enthusiasm, I appreciate having a frame of reference for my sons’ endless Star Wars quizzes. It’s made me slightly more well-rounded in my reading. For instance, when Mary Karr writes about a dancer who evokes “the big hairy Wookie,” I can visualize it now. And when Jessica Grant mentions Han Solo being frozen by Darth Vader, I finally understand the reference.
As Halloween approaches, I’m uncertain if we can pull off a General Grievous costume—after all, he has four arms! But I’d love for my boys to dress as Darth Vader, a big and little version of the iconic character. A mental image of our family, all decked out in black with lightsabers ready, fills me with joy.
It may not be the Star Wars experience everyone else had, but it’s a picture I can get behind—one that’s not bad at all.
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In summary, my late introduction to Star Wars has offered a new perspective on pop culture, making me appreciate the connections it creates, even if I never fully embrace its magic.
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