It is a shame that, for the rest of my life, I will associate the word “nigger” with the Star Wars universe. It was 1977, and by the time that I got to kindergarten, I had seen George Lucas’ epic five times. It was everything a little boy could want: spaceships, laser guns, good vs. evil, all the stuff a growing boy needs to activate his imagination.

I’m not sure about you, but the kids at my school always wanted to “play” whatever movie or television show that was popular at the time. So, that autumn, all you heard at recess was, “let’s play Star Wars.” I always wanted to play, but I used my recess time to read comic books and daydream. Rarely did I hang out with the other kids. The Sunday of my second week of kindergarten, my mother took my uncle and me to see the film again. It was different this time. Much different. I was no longer a voyeur to the spectacle; I was in that mutha! I was Han Solo. By this time, I had already shown that I had criminal leanings, so Mr. Solo was the perfect choice.

Monday’s recess came around, and this time I was ready to get my Star Wars on. I stood in line to get picked, and Matthew May (his real name) began to assign people to their respective characters:

“Okay, Bobby, you can be Luke Skywalker. Tia, you’re Princess Leia. Nick and Mike, you’re twins, so you can be R2-D2 and CfweePeeO. And I’m always Han Solo.” He looked at me, his face one big ass knot of confusion, “Um…Shawn. Um…Well, you’re a nigger, so you can be either Chewbacca or Dark Vader.”

Dark Vader, mind you. Not Darth.

Continue reading “The Dark Side of Star Wars“