I’m not proud to admit it. That of all the news stories — all the monumental things happening in the world — this was the one that stopped me in my tracks: “Star Wars toys will be out in September.”
Shame, shame.
Let the record show: I am a 42-year-old man. I do not own or play with toys. At least, not ones that don’t belong to my 9-year-old daughter. I am not a toy collector. I do not crowd my shelves with kitschy stuff I find on eBay.
Yet, part of me considered adding Sept. 4 to my calendar. It would read: “New Star Wars toys released. No appointments!”
I have a problem and I must seek counseling.
I was 4 years old when the first “Star Wars” movie came out. There are only three multi-sensory memories I can recall from my childhood: 1) Standing in line to see the original film at the Hillsborough 8 in Tampa; 2) Getting slammed in the side of the head by a slushy, rotting grapefruit … probably while playing Star Wars; and 3) the feeling of tearing open a brand new Star Wars action figure, suspended in its plastic window and cardboard backing.
If you look back at hospital records during those years, you will find that emergency room visits skyrocketed. The cause? Children all over America popping from the thrill of holding a Star Wars toy in their bare hands. (I was admitted to the hospital twice after forgetting how to breathe thanks to a Boba Fett doll.)
My dad asked me not too long ago what ever happened to all those toys. When my mother moved up to St. Augustine, we had to get rid of them all. They had been stored in the attic of her un-air conditioned Tampa garage. Strong as they were in the ways of the Force, the figures and sets had succumbed to all manner of ill effects — mold, critters gnawing on them, heat, decay. It was sad — a horrible way to die.
My dad gasped at hearing this.
“Do you know how long I waited in line for some of those toys?!?” he said. Back then, when rare movie toys went on sale, full-scale riots erupted inside toy stores as desperate parents — some carrying weapons and dressed like characters in a “Mad Max” film — battled to secure coveted Jawa action figures or Darth Vader with his extendable light saber.
“I still can’t fully raise my arm after wrestling an old woman for a Tauntaun and Han Solo in snow gear!” he added.
I felt guilty. But mostly I just wanted them back … for me.
Now comes a new generation of Star Wars toys.
I have warned my daughter. She needs to get ready to see the new movie when it comes out in December. And she also needs to get ready for next Christmas. Under the tree she might just find a couple fought-over Star Wars presents, and a 42-year-old kid who is more than ready to take them off her hands if she doesn’t want them.