How Generations Are United by a Vibrant Thread of Imagination

We must celebrate the lasting memories created through the simple act of play

Walter Rhein

Jan 10, 2025

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I never did solve the Christmas mystery of ’78. Maybe mom somehow scratched together enough to cover the cost. Maybe dad found it at a clearance sale (he never could pass up a deal even if it was something he didn’t want).

Or maybe it really was Santa.

All I know is that I received a “major” play set for the only time in my life before I even knew I wanted one. Later, the seeds of desire would be planted by advertisements that ran during Saturday morning cartoons.

But at age 3, I didn’t retain much from the television shows I watched.

Unwrapping that present would be the only time I’d look upon a Star Wars toy that I hadn’t spent months and months longing to possess.

“Oops, we ordered too many Death Stars” — Image by Walter Rhein

In 1977, the toy line wasn’t ready for Christmas. Star Wars came out in May of that year. The toys were in demand, so the manufacturer sold a promise instead of a product.

“They’re selling an empty box,” I remember my dad saying with a snort. “They say they’re going to send you the figures in the mail, but that’s not how life works. In life, you pay for an empty box and you get an empty box.”

I can’t remember opening the package for my first Luke Skywalker or Darth Vader, but I remember playing with them. Those molded plastic figures became a big part of my life.

A few years ago, I came upstairs to discover that my daughter had made Star Wars figures out of toilet paper rolls. This was the greatest thing I’d ever seen, and it got me to thinking about my old action figures:

It pleases me that these characters are still delighting the imagination. Growing up, adults muttered that this was a “fad” and that we’d soon “grow out” of our obsession.

That didn’t prove to be the case.

I remember that my dad once referred to my figures as “dolls.” I was mortified! They weren’t dolls. Didn’t he listen to the advertisements on Saturday morning cartoons? These were “action figures!” No, not dolls. A high-rolling, tough guy like myself didn’t play with dolls. Certainly not!

I remember that they cost $2 and change, which seemed about right. Getting the green was the hard part. I could find the change on the street on the way to the store. Back then, you got your toys from the pharmacy, which was also known as “the dime store” even though you couldn’t buy anything for a dime.

Even now, when I walk into the dime store in my hometown, I expect to find the aisle with floor to ceiling Star Wars figures from 1978. That’s always in my mind, like an afterimage on my perception of reality.

I used to save up the $2 in my cash box. I still have the cash box. I no longer have many of my action figures.

Amid all the toxicity that is social media, I found a group where people post pictures of their Star Wars collections. I’ll scroll through it once or twice a week when I need a break from all my pressing concerns. I particularly like when people share photos from the Star Wars page of the Sears Wish Book.

There was no internet back then. We’d get a catalog in the mail. I’d steal it and look at all the things that were out in the world, far, far away from the little farm where I grew up on the outskirts of the galaxy.

For play sets, I used my mom’s potted plants that she kept by the window in the living room. My stormtroopers would set ambushes for Luke and Leia as they crawled through the leaves.

“I thought I told you to stop playing in my plants, you’re going to kill them!”

So, I took my games outside. The figures were 3.75 inches tall, but during my flights of fancy, it felt as if they were life-sized, or even bigger.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve found it interesting how this particular mythology has endured. There are ebbs and flows, but during Halloween, you always see a smattering of familiar faces.

There’s Frankenstein’s monster, there are ghosts, and there is Darth Vader. On one of her first Halloweens, I dressed my daughter up as Chewbacca. She was the cutest little Chewbacca ever, even my wife had to admit it.

Sweet little random acts of magic happen in life. As my little Chewbacca held my hand, I sensed her grip tighten when she recognized other characters from the same shared universe.

“Look, there’s Darth Vader, I don’t like him.”

“Why don’t you like him?”

“Because Chewbacca doesn’t like Darth Vader and today I’m Chewbacca!”

“Well, that’s true, but on Halloween you’re allowed to put your differences aside and celebrate your mutual love of candy.”

“Oh, okay.”

So we went and took a picture with Darth Vader because that seemed like the natural thing to do. I didn’t confess to my daughter that I had to stand up for Darth Vader because back in the Halloween of ’82, it had been my face behind the mask.

Now, there’s a thing called cosplay. One year, my daughter invented her own Jedi character. I snapped this photo at the courthouse because the hallway lighting made me recall the set designs from an Imperial Star Destroyer (I added in the lightsaber effect):

Today, the only two figures that remain from my childhood are a single Stormtrooper and C3P0. Who could have foretold that these two would manage to avoid getting gnarled in the vacuum cleaner, chewed up by the dog, or lost in the woods?

Come to think of it, these figures probably survived more close calls than the characters on which they were based.

Though my Star Wars figures are gone, I thought it might be fun to share what they meant to me with my kids in some way. So, I called up images of the original toys on my tablet, then I had my daughters draw them, and I added the color.

We weren’t drawing the actors or the characters. We were trying to capture the essence of what was contained in the 1977 empty box.

The promise of play!

We did Han Solo, Luke Skywalker, Princess Leia, Darth Vader, and, of course, Chewbacca. Everybody loves Chewbacca. In a way, painting these images took me all the way back to 1978.

It’s possible to use our imaginations to bend time so we can experience special moments from the past, present, and future with those who matter most.

I treasure sharing times of creativity with my children. We sit together. We tell each other stories. We illustrate the characters we invent. There are talking animals. There are princesses. There are sorceresses and space wizards.

These flights of fancy become the vibrant thread that holds our lives together. I find myself wondering if one day, a long, long time from now, other children might take to the streets wearing masks based on the faces that were born during our times of joyful play.

It’s a pleasant dream.