Thursday, December 29, 2016


Dear Spike:

I don’t think I fully appreciated how much I wanted to be sitting next to you at the latest Star Wars movie until I wasn’t. 

My friend Robert and I had left the ski resort with three hours to spare before show time. Three and a half hours later we were still stuck in a long line of traffic as emergency crews cleared a multiple-car pile up at the bottom of the canyon. We sang Christmas carols to pass the time. And for my part, I suppose, to keep from crying.

One of my earliest memories is of walking past a row of movie posters outside a theater with my father. This would have been around 1984, I suppose. “Let’s peek inside to see if there’s a new Star Wars movie coming out,” he said.

There wasn’t. And there wouldn’t be for many, many years to come. By that time I was in college, and on opening night I brought Casey, a young boy I was mentoring. He spent most of the time fidgeting on the floor, but he perked up when Jar Jar Binks came on screen — as, for the record, do you.

(A quick side note: Everyone cheered and applauded at the end of "The Phantom Menace" on that night. These days most folks will tell you that Episode I was a complete disaster — and they’ll trot our poor Jar-Jar as exhibit A — but unless that theater was an absolute outlier, most of those naysayers have significantly changed their minds over time. They all loved it until they found out it wasn’t cool to love it.)

So, yeah, I love me some Star Wars. Always have. 

Now you’re old enough to share this joy with me. It’s a nerdy joy, for sure, but that’s OK. And I suppose that there was something kind of great about the fact that your mother didn’t think twice about whether or not you two would go to the opening night of "Rogue One" without me. Of course you were going.

It would be several more days before I could score the time and tix to see the flick. To your credit, you didn’t spoil the oh-my-God-did-Disney-really-do-that ending. But you did mention that Princess Leia shows up. You just couldn’t hold that in.

And I understand.

Last night our family snuggled up together to watch "A New Hope." I don’t think you’d caught on that it was a memorial viewing, and that’s fine — for all I know you might have already assumed Carrie Fisher was dead.

I’ve seen Episode IV hundreds of times. I know every character. I know every line. But I noticed a few things for the first time last night.

First of all, forget the controversy over Han and Greedo. Who cares? Because you know who actually shot first?

Leia. Leia shot first. 

Long before we meet Han and Chewbacca. Before we meet Luke and Ben. Before we set eyes upon the twin setting suns of Tatooine or feast upon the bureaucratic squabbling of the Galactic Empire or have a bad feeling about this, Leia unloads her blaster on a storm trooper.

She’s a teenager. Entrusted by her adopted father with the most important piece of information in the history of the rebellion. And she’s taking out frickin’ storm troopers. 

Oh, then she’s tortured, and she doesn’t give up the location of the hidden rebel base. And then her home planet is threatened with complete annihilation, and she doesn’t give up the location of the hidden rebel base. And then she’s threatened with execution, and she doesn’t give up the location of the hidden rebel base.

Then we meet Luke — who is all of 32 seconds older than Leia and ostensibly the hero of this whole saga — and he’s whining about power converters, losing his uncle's droids and getting the crap kicked out of him by sand people.

Who's the hero here, really? I think it's pretty clear.

I certainly don’t need to tell you how I feel about the princessification of our culture. We’ve. Been. Over. That. 

But as princesses go, Leia’s pretty much a bad ass. And today I’m feeling thankful to Carrie Fisher for bringing her to life and, in doing so, setting the stage for Star Wars heroines to come. You live in a world of Rey and Jyn because of Leia. 

I really do wish I hadn’t missed out on the Rogue One opening. But you and your mom didn’t need me to be there to validate your love of Star Wars. 

Because it’s your galaxy, too. And it always has been.


Wednesday, December 7, 2016


Dear Spike:

Your great grandfather was your age when Pearl Harbor was attacked.

I can't imagine what it must have been like for a child of that age to watch his country go to war — chiefly because I never asked him. When did he hear the news? Did he know what it meant? Did he remember hearing President Roosevelt's speech the following day? How did life change? How did childhood change?

I don't know. And today, on the 75th anniversary of the bombing of the attack that drew our nation into World War II, I am feeling regretful.

And determined.

Your grandfather was your age when President Kennedy was killed.

I can't imagine what it must have been like for a child of that age to learn his nation's president had been murdered — I've never asked him. But the next time we speak, I will. I'll ask him how he heard the news. I'll ask him what he remembers from that day. Did he remember watching Vice President Johnson take the oath of office? Did he recall Lee Harvey Oswald's murder, two days later?

There's so much more to learn, of course. And not just about days that will live in infamy.

Your grandmother wasn't too much older than you are now when Neil Armstrong took a giant leap for mankind.

I can't imagine what it must have been like to look to our moon and know that someone up there was looking right back, for it has never happened in my lifetime. Does she remember watching the landing on TV? Did she remember when the Apollo 11 crew splashed down, a few days later?    

We should ask, don't you think?