When My Son's 'Star Wars' Obsession Led to the Happiest Surprise

Last April, my son, Colin, had a new “obsession,” and it was all things “Star Wars.” I’d been down this road before, and my husband and I were counting our lucky stars that “Elmo’s World” had left the building. He began with “A New Hope,” “Empire” and “Jedi” (as he should). Then he wanted books.  He read and read. What parent would put a stop to that? Literacy and quiet? Win. Then it happened…

He read the words, “Jedi are forbidden to marry.” This is a huge problem for a 7-year-old who has mapped out his entire life. He wanted to spend his days protecting the galaxy, then come home to his wife and younglings. He had midichlorians to pass on, after all! This was his first major life decision, and he was struggling.

I cared, really, but after hearing about it all day every day… let’s just say I was having some pretty Dark-Sided feelings of my own. I handed him a piece of paper and a pen. Then I told him to tell it to George Lucas. He wrote the following:

My annoyance disappeared because, come on… this is adorable. As promised, I sent it off to Lucasfilm. George Lucas sold Lucasfilm and therefore would not be answering the letter himself, but I was hoping for a form letter that might satisfy my young Padawan. What we got was a bit more. Along with a bunch of toys and books, he received this letter:

Let me tell you, when a “Star Wars” fan opens their mailbox and sees a package from Lucasfilm, the video camera comes out. This is the result.

Months went by without incident. (OK, maybe there were a few lightsaber injuries during that time, but not much else.)  Then one day, the phone rings, and it’s the head of PR for Lucasfilm. They still had Colin’s letter, and they wanted to talk to the New York Times about it. (The Times was doing a story on fan mail.) We chatted for a bit, and I mentioned I made a video of Colin and his dad opening the package, and I could put it on YouTube for the staff to see. The following day, the New York Times called to interview me, and I did my best to pretend I was doing something more exciting than scrubbing the toilets at the time.

The Times article was set to come out on a Friday, and on Thursday, a friend asked if he could share the story with a few bloggers. In the time between saying yes and the Times article coming out, my child’s wish to journey the galaxy was quickly becoming a reality. Hundreds of publications covered his story. We even ended up doing a few local news shows.

Now, all the news was not good. As in the wonderful world of “Star Wars,” there is a Dark Side. I was being hounded by companies asking me to sell the rights to the video. My Facebook page was hacked for pictures, interviews were posted that were completely fabricated and let’s just say that some science fiction fans do not like their favorite stories messed with. I considered taking it all down. Then my friend, Mike, alerted me to something he saw while following the story on –>. It was this comment:

“I’m beaten down by life, fairly hopelessly, battling away at incorporeal enemies like health, bills, and depression, so much of me detached from the smaller and simpler person I once was. I’ve buried a hundred versions of myself in a graveyard of my mind.

And yet here I sit, tired and sick and not even sure if I’ll make it to The Force Awakens, and a two-minute video of a child getting dollar store-level merchandize in a nondescript brown envelope punches through the veneer of adulthood and brings me all the way down to his level… and for just a single minute I’m mindlessly happy again. It’s Christmastime and I remember how great it felt.”

I sat there for a moment. When that video created a life of its own and took off, I never considered it anything other than my child’s 15 minutes of fame. I got more and more comments like this one, and I realized this meant much more to me than just being our flash in the pan.

When Colin was diagnosed with autism, I was afraid the autism was all the world would see. No one would ever see him as I see him. No one would notice his constant state of wonder and enthusiasm for life, but there it was. Colin’s autism wasn’t included in the launch of this story.  It was all about him, and he was making the world smile. Someone once told me someday I would Google my name and the results would show, “Mother of Colin” — and it does.

If the most noteworthy thing I ever do is to raise a child who sets his sights on changing the galaxy, then I think I can call myself wildly successful. Although, the job may never be done.  After all, someday there may be grandchildren.

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Follow this journey on RaisingJedi.

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