I think everyone who, as a kid, once imagined himself as Luke Skywalker or Han Solo thinks of themselves as a really big fan. I know I’ve always thought so. Indeed, for a while there, I thought I might be in the top three percentile of rabid fans.
Not even close.
I’ve never lined up for days, peeing and defecating God-knows-where to wait in line for movie admission. My toy collection was quite modest as a kid, when they were given to me, and never really developed as an adult, when I could buy my own. My house isn’t decorated in gaudy memorabilia, a fact for which I’m sure my wife is glad. But I’ve still considered myself a big fan.
In this week leading up to the release of Star Wars The Force Awakens, I have come to humbly realize the Force is very weak in me. It hasn’t really awakened as much as I’d like. I blame it on a low midichlorian count. (I would see a specialist about that, but I’m afraid he’d tell me there’s nothing he could do about it.)
I am missing the company Christmas party to take my son to it. My wife and daughter have now, barring some Jedi mind trick, begged off attending the premier with me. I’m even buying an ad for my photography that will run in the local theatre before the movie starts.
But I have never, ever met someone who out-Star Warsed me like Wade Baldwin.
I first met Wade several years ago, when I profiled him and two other mixed martial arts fighters who worked in the oilpatch. Awesome guy.
His name came up when discussing the premier of the new Star Wars movie with my publishing, with the suggestion that I should do a story on Wade’s tattoos.
Let’s just say the Force is strong with this one.
His entire back is covered, shoulder-to-shoulder, neck to waist, in a giant Star Wars tattoo. I’ve never seen anything of the kind before.
There’s the Death Star II under construction between his shoulder blades. Darth Vader is prominent at the base of his spine. The rest is covered in characters and ships.
But what’s 56 hours under a needle?
When I visited, I got to meet his one-week-old daughter, Rey. She came a week early. Her due date was a week before the movie premier.
“Rey” also happens to be the name of the heroine in the upcoming movie.
I feel so insignificant in my fandom now. I could have named my kid Luke. Han, might have been a bit harder to slip past my wife, and Leia, equally so. Qui-gon would have been a lot harder, but possible. I wonder how many kids are named Obi-wan each year?
Now, custom-built light sabers and collectible toys may have been out of my reach financially. But naming my kid after a character, that wouldn’t have cost anything! Why didn’t I think of that?
(Okay, a divorce lawyer might have cost a nickle or too. But I’d at least get to see Luke and Leia on weekends and holidays, when we could watch movies together. All six of them.)
No, I won’t be in costume on December 18. I won’t have any tattoos, or appropriately-named children with me. I guess I’ll just have to enjoy the movie like a normal person.
