Confronting the Dark Lord
Written By Alice Bradley
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In the living room, my husband and son are killing each other. "Zat!" cries Henry. "Zat zat zat! I got you with my lightsaber!" "But I am your faaather..." Scott gasps, clutching his stomach. It's too late. Henry, 5, has gone over to the dark side. There's a lot of killing going on in our house. Most of the carnage occurs on Saturday mornings, although occasionally there's time for a duel or two before school. This can be problematic, since once Henry has his dad's attention, he doesn't want to let go. "But we haven't played at aaaall," Henry will moan, even after they've been whapping at each other for the past hour. It's never enough for Henry — if he could play Star Wars with his dad every minute of the day, he would. He recently told me his idea of the Best Weekend Ever: "Dad and I would play Star Wars," he said, "for two days without stopping. We would go to sleep and wake up and still be playing Star Wars." "That does sound great," I said. I pictured Henry nudging Scott awake with his lightsaber at 6 a.m., his Darth Vader mask affixed to his face. "We meet again," he would intone, while Scott whimpered. Maybe I could go away for the weekend while the boys enjoy their quality time? This might be the Best Weekend Ever for me too. "Then, at the end of the two days, you would come and bring us new toys and ice cream," he added while checking my expression. Was she really going to go for it?
That pretty much sums up Henry's relationship with both of us. I'm good for toy purchasing and food giving, but all he wants from Scott is time. Time to play Power Rangers, or Invading Pirates from Space. But mostly time to play Star Wars.
Scott complains about Henry's Star Wars obsession, which I find hilarious. I had to endure a great deal of George Lucas's creations well before Henry came into being. When I met Scott 12 years ago, he identified himself right away as a die-hard fan. "It's sort of my thing," he said, if not on the first date, then shortly thereafter. "I'm very into it." He warned me, and I dated him anyway. I simply didn't consider what "very into" meant. I thought it meant that if someone mentioned Star Wars, he'd reply, "Ah, yes, know it well." Perhaps a wistful look would come over him. Maybe he had a few Star Wars–related books. As an aspiring filmmaker, he doubtless admired George Lucas, and I could respect that. But I assumed it ended there. You will note the ominous foreshadowing. Then I learned. There were the 20-year-old home movies: Scott and his best friend reenacting the deadly standoff between Han Solo and Greedo, Scott leaping and tripping around his backyard, a lightsaber hand-etched into the film. It didn't end there. I learned that Scott turned Star Wars on "as background noise" whenever he worked, or cleaned, or ate, or sat. That he read Star Wars fan sites every morning and evening. That if he happened to be flipping through the channels and Star Wars was on, he had to watch it. That he was currently building a few models of Star Wars ships. And he worked on them while watching, yes, Star Wars.
It's not that I loathed Star Wars, at least not at first, but I had never been all that enthusiastic about it. I wanted to be Princess Leia just as much as any typical girl in the 1970s. But I moved on. I wanted to be Wonder Woman. Then Mary Tyler Moore. I developed an obsession with Garfield. The usual stuff. That I grew out of. And yet, despite Star Wars, we continued to date. We moved in together. I didn't move out, even when George Lucas decided to reissue the Star Wars trilogy with updated effects because he hates me, and then — what the hell! — create a NEW trilogy because he really hates me. I watched a lot of Star Wars in those years. All for Scott. But I still loved him, damn it, and we forged ahead with our own trilogy: First Comes Love, Then Comes Marriage, Then Comes Henry in the Baby Carriage.
Next: Henry Skywalker is born
From The Force Is With Us. Always. Copyright © 2008 by Alice Bradley, essay from Things I Learned About My Father in Therapy edited by Heather B. Armstrong. Copyright © 2008 by Heather B. Armstrong. Published by arrangement with Citadel Press/Kensington Publishing Corp. All rights reserved. www.kensingtonbooks.com
