May The Kirk Be With You

The definition of irony might begin with the fact that I am a Kirk who prefers Star Wars over Star Trek, though the most recent “Trekkie” film sure challenged me to think that maybe George Lucas has taken a backseat to Gene Roddenberry in the battle for Greatest Geek of All Time.

Despite being Kirk, I grew up wanting to board the Millennium Falcon and race through a fictitious galaxy of weird creatures, space stations, odd planets and amazing characters. I was caught up in the magic of The Force. I admired the subtle command of the laser blaster and swooned over the charm of a Princess on a mission. While I did not in my juvenile mind see the connection between Star Wars and the classic tales of chivalry and gallantry I had read as a child, I sure found myself wishing Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi was among my kin. Honestly, who wouldn’t want a lightsaber? I have even been told that I resemble Lucas himself.

As adolescence took its usually awkward course, I drifted away from the original trilogy as any self-serving neo-nerd would (and should) want to do. I needed to get a life: I was about to drive a car, maybe get a job, and I sure as hell had better get a girlfriend (soon!) if I were to move out of my fantasy-driven world of good versus evil and into reality.

My mother delights in telling the story of how I, as a seven-year-old boy, was scared by Darth Vader to the point that I ran from the theatre crying. As well, my aunt laments the fact that I was able to convince my cousin that hitting his collection of Star Wars Action Figures into the woods as if they were baseballs was somehow a good idea. We lost the whole collection. Damn e-bay! Had it not been for the sudden surge in collectable memorabilia from the 1980’s, I would never have been accused of throwing good money over that hill.

Now that I am a father, I have revisited Star Wars, and I have found myself enjoying it all the more. Of course (insert famous cliché music to enhance your reading experience), I see it through different eyes and with a different perspective. No longer does the Death Star represent some evil empire in the sky; I see it for what it is – the headquarters of the New York Yankees. No more do Stormtroopers surprise me for having regenerated scene after scene when they had just been killed. I now see through the eyes of a humanitarian who comprehends genocide and xenophobia but also recognizes the horror and tragedy of war. The Force? Ha! Who needs it? What was once connectivity of all great spirits is now simply nothing more than life itself.

What struck me most about watching Star Wars with my son (and daughters, though they were about as interested as the girls from my 1982 neighborhood who were somehow NOT impressed that I could speak just like Yoda after having seen – and successfully stayed in the movie house for – The Empire Strikes Back) was the notion that he might find a role model within the Star Wars anthology that he could follow and aspire toward. But who?

Lando Calrissian? I hope not. A friend turned traitor turned savior is a risky friend indeed.

Boba Fett? Perhaps. But under all the really cool gadgets is just a renegade vigilante wrapped around a mercenary bounty hunter…Damn, why didn’t I think of The Dog the Bounty Hunter idea? That dude makes some serious money.

Jar Jar Binks? No! I fear my son will one day bring home a friend who reminds me of Jar Jar, and I will say something I regret temporarily that in ten years we will all laugh about.

I think it is time for me to identify with one of the characters that defined my childhood. Granted, if I had put this much thought into the plays and novels I had read as a college student, I would either be writing professionally or teaching Shakespeare by now…but that is a different legend. If I can relate to one character, perhaps I will understand how to be a better father in the light of whom my son admires.

So, here goes.

Chewbacca was my first favorite Star Wars character, mostly because that was my first action figure. When I connected the fact that he is a “Wookie” to the massive species we meet in the 6th / 3rd film, I was disappointed. I had always seen him as one of a kind, like me; but he is also brutish and stupid and strong. Keep your comments to yourself! I am only brutish when I am stupid and strong when it is overtime of a Stanley Cup play-off game. It takes guts to watch that stuff. I am no Chewie.

Then came Yoda - wise, articulate…yeah, that kid of ruled me out. As much as I want to be Yoda, just not am I.

Princess Leia? Wow, that could open a whole other galaxy to me! But, no.

I am not brave like Han Solo. That guy has chutzpah: arrogant beyond regret, tough as titanium, quick with a quasi-real cool gun, he is handsome and athletic. I was (and am) none of these. As much as piloting my own smuggler ship across the stars sounds like fun, it just isn’t me.

Nor am I intelligent like C3-PO. Who doesn’t love his entrance line: “I am C3-PO, protocol droid, human-cyborg relations. I am fluent in over six million forms of communication…”? Imagine the dates that guy could get! He is out there somewhere, though. C3-PO is the kid we all made fun of who could master French and Spanish as well as English in high school, and who in college took up German, Farsi and Swahili just to annoy us lesser-cyborgs. He is as smart as Einstein but was a worry wart to end all wet-blanket revolts. I could name the kid in high school whose dad asked me to take him to a baseball game with the guys and get him into a little trouble just to humanize him, but that would not be fair. That guy, either real or imagined, is not me.

So who the hell am I in the Star Wars mythology? These characters relate to us for a reason. (There must be a Jabba the Hut joke in here somewhere.) Darth Vader…I wish I could be so evil! Obi-Wan Kenobi…I wish I could be so good. Qui-Gon Jinn…I wish I could have such a stupid name and not get my ass kicked once in while.

I guess I must be Luke.

Yeah, the lamest of the lame. Naïve, ambitious, over-reactive… a little wishy-washy when he wants the girl, but he does get the girl only to find out, yeah, never mind that… nice to a fault… a bit stubborn…wants to be a dreamer but circumstances align in such a manner where he is forced into action… ultimately, he is indecisive, thus he is me …or, is he?

Who knows? I can only hope my son will learn from me because I want to be less like a Star Wars character and more like a dad. Maybe he and I will go back and forth between all of these – Boba Fett had a bad dude for a dad, and Luke’s father was…well, you know. To struggle like Darth and Luke would not be fun, but at least the fate of the universe will not be on our minds. I will not be to him what my father was to me – lost and unknown like Han Solo’s dad. Do we ever meet a Mr. Solo?

The only thing I can do is teach him along the way and be just a little pissed off to remember that when he first saw Darth Vader burst through the smoke and fog of the Rebel ship that sets the stage for “A New Hope,” my then-five-year-old son turned to me and said, “Dad, this is so cool!” So, I pass a movie along the generational line. What scared me, he enjoys; heroes for me may become anything or nothing to him. But we are Kirks together, regardless of the universe. Okay, fair enough. That solves it. I will try to be his role model.

Then again, R2-D2 is a pretty cool cat…