My son, Eric, turned eight this weekend–so, naturally (as I tend to do), I found myself reminiscing about my life when I was eight years old–thirty years ago (believe me, it does NOT seem that long ago…)
At that time, Star Wars ruled my life–it was everything to me. Toys, games, comic books, trading cards (the kind that came with the brittle strip of bubblegum that shattered in your mouth when you bit into it)–anything and everything Star Wars–whatever I could get my hands on. I had my handful of friends in the neighborhood to play with after school, weekends, and during the summer. We rode bikes, chased each other around the neighborhood, and got into a little trouble now and then. I counted down the minutes in school until 3:00 came every day, I watched cartoons Saturday mornings in my pajamas, I played in the snow during the infamous blizzards of the the late 70’s, and I whiled away many a summer afternoon laying in the cool prickly grass watching clouds drift by–or with my nose in a comic book… I complained about having to wear by big, clunky winter boots on snowy days, and protested wearing a coat over my costume on those chilly Halloween evenings. On any given day, I could be Batman, Luke Skywalker, Spider-Man, Han Solo, a pirate ship captain, Darth Vader, or–on some days–even Bugs Bunny or Daffy Duck. I had an electric train set in my parents’ family room, and my favorite uncle came over for every birthday–he even brought be a box of Hardy Boys books for me one summer as a “half birthday” present.
And, oddly enough, thirty years later, I get to relive a lot of this through my two sons… Thanks to the new prequel movies, Eric and his friends love Star Wars, too. In fact, Eric got some action figures for his birthday from his grandparents. And while he gave them brief consideration, I couldn’t help but think that if I had received those for my eighth birthday, I would not have put them down for a moment–except for meals, bathroom breaks, showers, etc. (and maybe not even then, now that I think about it). Saturday morning cartoons are still a staple (though not as much of a novelty anymore since there are cable channels devoted to cartoons throughout the week). So is running through the neighborhood with a cadre of friends playing pirates, army men, Star Wars, or just riding bikes. Thirty years later, kids still have to come in way too soon after dark on those eternal June evenings, and meals are still an unwelcome interruption from playing outside.
Eight really is a wondrous age–at least it is for boys; I can’t speak for the other gender. You’re old enough to start doing some “big kid” things, but you still get to be a “little boy” when it’s convenient–something that won’t last much longer. Pre-adolescence is not too far off–when things get a little more complicated and confusing… When suddenly it’s not cool to like things like Star Wars anymore…when you can’t cry when you get hurt anymore…when you have to like–and be good at–sports or else you are ridiculed…when you have to begin competing for the attention of the fairer sex…when you have to start thinking about your future…
Yes, eight is indeed a wondrous age for being a boy.
Happy birthday, Eric. I hope you enjoy eight as much as I did (if memory serves, at least). I love you, son.