May. 4th, 2017

sartorias: (brain)
I am pretty much guaranteed to always be a day late and a dollar short, but even I stumble onto contemporary happenings, mostly through reading blogs, and I discovered that today is Star Wars Day.

It won't last, unless some big gun figures a way to make money off it, but meanwhile we can think back to our experiences. Like standing in lines in 1977, in an atmosphere of exhilaration. My co-writer Dave T. and I would walk over to Hollywood Blvd at around midnight and get into line for the two thirty or four o'clock a.m. showing, as that was when the eternal line got shortest. The air was usually redolent with Maui Wowee, and people passed back and forth cheap bottles of wine, etc. Nobody had thought of working the line as vendors, which I understand happens now: there was a humongoid line for Hamilton tx a few days ago, and I was told vendors were there. Same atmosphere of party and shared expectation and enjoyment.

So there was also a post about Star Wars figures, triggering memory. In 1993, my son's bio dad showed up unexpectedly one day, after two years of silence. (We stayed with him and bio-mom for the two weeks before son's birth, then we drove the 700 miles down here, and he and bio-mom split up. As this was an open adoption, we heard from her often, but not from him until this day.) He carried a shoe box under one arm. He looked around our shabby furniture (most of which, alas, we still have, those that haven't fallen apart) and our wall to wall bookcases, and dominating the living room the gigantic plastic castle we'd bought so Son could climb inside when he couldn't be outside. Eccentric as we and our space is, Bio-dad seemed content (his growing up had been pretty fraught). He stayed maybe half an hour, during which he handed us the shoe box, which turned out to be mostly full of Star Wars figures that he'd played with as a little kid in the late seventies and early eighties. He hadn't had many toys, but those he'd had he'd saved in this box.

We promptly handed them off to the son, who played with them happily for several years. A few of them got chewed up by various rescue dogs over the years, and some got lost, but those that survived years of imaginary battles I scooped up when the son moved on to video games, and now I have that box in the closet, in case some day he has kids of his own.

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