It was early summer. 1977. I was five years old.
My parents had taken my older brother and me out to lunch. I don’t remember exactly where, but I had taken along a small toy robot. We were sitting at the table and I was playing with the robot. My dad mentioned that, “It looked like 3PO.”
“What’s 3PO,” I asked?
“He’s a robot from Star Wars,” my mom responded.
“Oh. You saw Star Wars?” I asked, slightly disappointed I hadn’t been taken along.
“Yep. We think you boys will like it. We wanted to see it first though.”
The pang of excitement I felt when I first found out I was going to see Star Wars was intense. I had heard about Star Wars. I had seen the TV commercial. The phrase, “I’m Luke Skywalker; I’m here to rescue you,” was burned in my brain even though I didn’t know who Luke Skywalker was or who he was rescuing.
When the lights dimmed and that iconic B-flat chord came across the theater speakers, my hair stood on end. I knew I was about to experience a story that I had never been told before…in a way I had never heard it. I sat calmly in my seat, not knowing what the next couple of hours were going to bring.
As much as I’ve enjoyed watching all of the Star Wars movies over and over again, I’ve never been able to recapture the excitement I felt the first time I saw it in 1977. But right now I’m really close. The anticipation that’s been brewing over the past few months has stirred the five year old boy inside of me. He’s waiting patiently, but he’s going to have a hard time sleeping tonight.