Star Wars Room Story: "I Am Your Father"
Ho… Hah.
Deep, dark breathing.
Ho… Hah.
Looking up, I could see the mirrored eyes above me. Peering, leering, as if to prove to me they were alive.
Ho… Hah.
And, then, in the back of my mind, a voice.
“Luke, I am your faaather…”
And, that did it. Although I felt I was as brave as any Jedi knight, the subconscious – or, perhaps, hyperactive – part of my seven-year-old mind soon got the best of me. As I stared above my head, behind the backboard of my bed, those eyes, that mask, looked down on me, a hundred times over. The new Star Wars wallpaper in my room featured many wonderful scenes, including Darth Vader in his full, terrifying glory.
Like many a child, and adult, in the late seventies and early eighties, I too was fascinated by all things Star Wars. My friends and I would pool our collections of action figures, plastic beasts, and galactic starships to reenact the numerous and harrowing adventures of our Star Wars heros. While I was told that I did, in fact, see Star Wars in the theatre at age 3, I definitely remember going to see Empire at seven and, the amazing sights and sounds of everyone’s favorite sci fi epic. Amongst those in attendance that night, mostly my friends and their fathers, there was no bigger fan there than my own dad.
Before my room was remodeled, I was fortunate enough to experience what history has now dubbed the “Star Wars” Christmas. When I went to bed Christmas Eve, I had dreamed of star fighters and light sabers. When I awoke Christmas morning, my dream had come true. And, not only had it come true under yards of ribbon and wrapping paper, but instead as an intergalactic battle – every toy already adultly assembled, every figure out of his box and weapon in hand – taking place under the Chirstmas tree, on the mantle of the fireplace, and throughout the living room. Were there such a thing as the Star Wars Christmas jackpot, my father had spent the entire night before snapping tab As into slot Bs, peeling, placing (and replacing) decals, and making sure that every detail was in order. As he sat in his chair, sipping coffee, I was too excited to see the slight smile on his face, and the shocked expressions coming from my mom and grandparents.
“By golly, he did stay up all night…” they mumbled, but I was too busy to hear.
Of course, the toys were great, but the piece de resistance was the fact that I would soon have my room remodeled in a great Star Wars theme. And, in true dad fashion, there would be no simple border strip of wallpaper over a fresh coat of paint to simply announce my allegiance to the ways of the force. No, there would be, indeed, an entire design to the room. He chose three interplanetary colors – orange, green, and silver – that would be painted in bands around my room, culminating in a gigantic S, shaped in classic Star Wars font. The carpet? Out with the shag, and in with a gray that matched the deck of an imperial starship. Finally, one wall devoted entirely to repeating patterns of Darth Vader, Han Solo and Princess Leia, a skyscape of Cloud City, and other iconic images.
The planning alone must have taken him hours, and the production – with masking tape to mark the lines of paint, tons of wallpaper paste, and many hours of moving plastic armies in and out – must have taken ten times that. Yet, when it was done, I felt as though I was walking into the cockpit of an X-wing, all my figures having a place to call there own as much as I did.
There was something that Obi Wan never told me about my father. Something that I am just now coming to learn as a father myself. When it comes to making one’s children feel special, to feel wanted, and comforted, then you will do anything. And, even though Vader gave me the creeps sometimes, I enjoyed the long hours in that room playing with my empire when my dad couldn’t be there, away on business or tending to other aspects of owning a home and being a good husband. Now, I understand why he spent so much time putting that room together, and why Star Wars meant so much to him.
As Yoda might say, “Because so much to you it means, so much to me it means as well.”
Ho… Hah.
Deep, dark breathing.
Ho… Hah.
Looking up, I could see the mirrored eyes above me. Peering, leering, as if to prove to me they were alive.
Ho… Hah.
And, then, in the back of my mind, a voice.
“Luke, I am your faaather…”
And, that did it. Although I felt I was as brave as any Jedi knight, the subconscious – or, perhaps, hyperactive – part of my seven-year-old mind soon got the best of me. As I stared above my head, behind the backboard of my bed, those eyes, that mask, looked down on me, a hundred times over. The new Star Wars wallpaper in my room featured many wonderful scenes, including Darth Vader in his full, terrifying glory.
Like many a child, and adult, in the late seventies and early eighties, I too was fascinated by all things Star Wars. My friends and I would pool our collections of action figures, plastic beasts, and galactic starships to reenact the numerous and harrowing adventures of our Star Wars heros. While I was told that I did, in fact, see Star Wars in the theatre at age 3, I definitely remember going to see Empire at seven and, the amazing sights and sounds of everyone’s favorite sci fi epic. Amongst those in attendance that night, mostly my friends and their fathers, there was no bigger fan there than my own dad.
Before my room was remodeled, I was fortunate enough to experience what history has now dubbed the “Star Wars” Christmas. When I went to bed Christmas Eve, I had dreamed of star fighters and light sabers. When I awoke Christmas morning, my dream had come true. And, not only had it come true under yards of ribbon and wrapping paper, but instead as an intergalactic battle – every toy already adultly assembled, every figure out of his box and weapon in hand – taking place under the Chirstmas tree, on the mantle of the fireplace, and throughout the living room. Were there such a thing as the Star Wars Christmas jackpot, my father had spent the entire night before snapping tab As into slot Bs, peeling, placing (and replacing) decals, and making sure that every detail was in order. As he sat in his chair, sipping coffee, I was too excited to see the slight smile on his face, and the shocked expressions coming from my mom and grandparents.
“By golly, he did stay up all night…” they mumbled, but I was too busy to hear.
Of course, the toys were great, but the piece de resistance was the fact that I would soon have my room remodeled in a great Star Wars theme. And, in true dad fashion, there would be no simple border strip of wallpaper over a fresh coat of paint to simply announce my allegiance to the ways of the force. No, there would be, indeed, an entire design to the room. He chose three interplanetary colors – orange, green, and silver – that would be painted in bands around my room, culminating in a gigantic S, shaped in classic Star Wars font. The carpet? Out with the shag, and in with a gray that matched the deck of an imperial starship. Finally, one wall devoted entirely to repeating patterns of Darth Vader, Han Solo and Princess Leia, a skyscape of Cloud City, and other iconic images.
The planning alone must have taken him hours, and the production – with masking tape to mark the lines of paint, tons of wallpaper paste, and many hours of moving plastic armies in and out – must have taken ten times that. Yet, when it was done, I felt as though I was walking into the cockpit of an X-wing, all my figures having a place to call there own as much as I did.
There was something that Obi Wan never told me about my father. Something that I am just now coming to learn as a father myself. When it comes to making one’s children feel special, to feel wanted, and comforted, then you will do anything. And, even though Vader gave me the creeps sometimes, I enjoyed the long hours in that room playing with my empire when my dad couldn’t be there, away on business or tending to other aspects of owning a home and being a good husband. Now, I understand why he spent so much time putting that room together, and why Star Wars meant so much to him.
As Yoda might say, “Because so much to you it means, so much to me it means as well.”
posted by hickstro | 8:26 AM
1 Comments:
This is REALLY good writing, Troy. I read it to my dad and we had half a cry and a good laugh over it. Thanks. My poor dad, he had all girls...he was master assembler for everything Barbie and Breyer Horse (the horses were my empire). Glad you're finding inspiration and writing time, this is a great short.
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