I was writing this as a private message to @mothlissa because she is the most lovely and patient, and has been listening to all my ramblings and happy memories and beloved feelings about Star Wars for the past week, but I was inspired to post it instead. (I actually thought I told this story once a long time ago, but I can’t seem to find it anywhere on my blog?)
when I was a senior in highschool, I took a drama class that was open to everyone, so there were students from all four grades in it. (I was deeply into my passion for LOTR at this point, and was writing my AP thesis on Tolkien’s trilogy, so that was a major omnipresent part of my identity right then, as I did research and collected scholarly sources and pored over chapters repeatedly. you could probably find me wearing my Evenstar or at least my Nenya on any given day, because I have never been anything less than a parody of myself). anyway, I had a huge binder, it was white, and it had those clear plastic coverings on the front and back, and to further reduce myself as a nerd stereotype, I made collages of a bunch of my favorite characters and covered the whole binder in them, underneath the plastic.
so one day we were working on scenes, and I pulled my binder out, and a freshman in my class got excited because she saw Anakin and Padme as part of this collage, and she started telling me how much she loved Star Wars and the prequels were her favorite everything, and it made her so sad because kids were mean to her about it.
she was a special education student, she had some learning disabilities and a little bit of a speech disorder, along with a physical component. (I don’t want to be ableist in ANY way in describing this, but it’s important to relay for the sake of the story.) she was incredibly sweet. cohesion/concentration was hard for her sometimes, but she told me she never got bored or had trouble understanding Star Wars. kids, because unfortunately they can be super mean, told her she looked/sounded like “an alien.” Star Wars made her feel better about it.
I worked with her a lot, she was genuine and likable and it killed me that other students (particularly in her grade) bullied her, and sometimes if we had free moments she would ask me about LOTR and what my necklace was etc, because those movies/books were too much for her, but she was so curious and she wanted to KNOW. gosh typing this up makes me tearful remembering it
at some point in the class we were assigned to bring an object of comfort/importance in our lives to class and write (then read aloud) about it. as it turned out, she had a doll of Jar-Jar Binks that she’d cherished for years, and most days she secretly carried him with her in her backpack, like a talisman against the unkind words that were thrown at her, and she was SO FREAKING BRAVE she did her scene about it. imagine this for a moment. the MOST mocked character, maybe of all-time, and she expressed her love for him in front of an entire class in a blackbox theatre. she said he made her feel less “weird” – his eyes protruded too! he got overly excited and hyper, he had trouble with grammar and sentences and sometimes didn’t relate to/understand the people or events around him! but he was still brave and he had a job in the SENATE and he had helped save his people! I legitimately sat in awe of her doing this, just straight up defying ridicule and basically proclaiming – I LOVE this, and I don’t care if everyone else hates it, because it means something to me!
is he obnoxious to many? well…yes. but. I haven’t been able to see a single word or joke against his character since without thinking of her, and I really do not care if every other person on this earth who has seen TPM derides him, his existence is important, because he gave this ONE little girl solace and hope in a world that treated her badly simply for being different.
that, my friends, is an example of why stories and fictional characters matter. it may not be “real,” but the impact it can have on our lives, the strength and consolation it can bring us, the way it can help to shape our identities, the way we carry that love as a source of joy, even (perhaps especially) during hard times, that is undeniably, indelibly, powerfully real, and true, and good, and beautiful.
I know I’ve reblogged this already, but I honestly think someone should send this to Ahmed Best.