Last night I spent time with Mook, my best friend from college and maid of honor at my first wedding. I am always particularly grateful to hang out with her, because she was my BFF before The Crazy and she actually forgave me. That’s pretty damn rare. She’s part of the reason I got the courage to start blogging again; she’s seen the very, very worst of me and still loves me. If that can happen, I can go ahead and face my internet demons.
Back then we were both terribly nerdy and square, so we clicked immediately. We shared many interests, but really bonded over Star Wars. We were both pretty hardcore into it, although nowhere near the way I got into Lord of the Rings later. We were just the regular kind of nerds, reading novels and gossip websites, going to midnight toy unveilings, skipping class to watch the Special Edition of the original series. And, of course, my first camp-out at a movie theater.
While we were watching Plinkett’s Epic Review of Star Wars: Episode 1, she casually asked if I had introduced Edward to Star Wars yet. I said no, not yet, not wanting to admit I don’t actually have a copy currently. Between that, and the fact that I’m trying to convince Kristi to let me dress her daughter as Princess Leia for Halloween (Luke is a boring costume for E, but a pair of Star Wars babies? Um, yes please!), Star Wars is on the brain. And with that comes the big question.
Which trilogy first?
I know, I know. Those of you who aren’t dorks can’t even fathom the question. Why could this possibly matter? And yet it does. Its so nerdishly complex. The purist in me wants to only let him watch the original (not special edition) trilogy until he’s “older” and I can somehow explain the new one. But will he just wind up with the same sinking disappointment when he sees them? What if all his friends have already seen the new ones? What if he likes them better? What if he wants to grow one of those stupid braids?
And I sort of realized that it doesn’t really matter. What I really want is for him to be fun and smart and interesting, and to share interests with me. I want to do fun things with him, and I naturally want to pull him along with me into things I enjoy. I have little fantasies about Star Trek conventions and nerdy little costumes.
I want him to like me.
So it takes getting myself into a lather about Greedo shooting first to realize this? Sure, and it isn’t exactly an earth-shattering revelation. But it’s sort of reassuring when I get all worked up about fucking midichlorians that it won’t wreck Star Wars, or my son’s potential geekiness, if I just let him watch them whenever it happens.
Hopefully redeeming my lapse in Star Wars education, I have already got the boy well schooled in Star Trek: The Next Generation, with a fair exposure to the original series. Voyager is up next, and Deep Space Nine will start streaming in October. So we’ve got that covered at least.