“I want to see King Kong 2!” I griped.
My dad pointed to a different movie ad in The Newark Star-Ledger.
“I heard Star Wars is supposed to be good,” he responded. He knew a little more about his space-obsessed kid than that kid new about himself.
The kid who would open up a mini Air & Space Museum in the basement and co-host an elementary school class about building paper spaceships? The simian story would have to wait.
Like many a 9-year-old, George Lucas’s force took hold of me, and I’ve been engrossed by the Skywalker saga ever since.
My good friend and I dressed up as Darth Vader that Halloween, sporting chest controls of colored felt and giant green Tinkertoy connecting sticks as lightsabers.
The truth is, Luke never particularly resonated with me. Sure, his story did, but I have loved Vader and the swashbuckling Han Solo (whether or not Greedo shot first). Han Solo was my answer to “Who do you want to be when you grow up?” until I realized the jump to light speed would have to wait for a generation or two.
When my parents wouldn’t buy me a die-cast X-Wing fighter, I decided I’d make my own. Problem was, I only had green construction paper. When I brought in my off-color creation to school the next day, my co-conspirator in art, Todd, was inspired and showed up the next day with a Battlestar Galactica Colonial Viper that looked just like the real thing!
That began an arms race of creativity, which eventually led to the spaceship-building class I mentioned above.
My dad knew me well.
I’ve still never seen King Kong 2.