There are moments in your life that stick with you. Things that once you see them you know intrinsically that it will always be a part of you.

For me, it was the first time I saw Star Wars.

I was five years old. I was a geeky as a kid could get. I liked robots, dinosaurs, and anything science fiction that I could get my hands on.

I still remember the conversation with my dad. He said that I needed to see Star Wars. Ironically, I wasn’t receptive to the idea. He was trying to get me to watch movies he liked as a kid, and the success rate was not high.

But, I was five and my time really wasn’t my own, so we sojourned to the video store and rented the movies. It was a Blockbuster at the end of our street. Some of you may remember those. At the time, I was more excited about the prospect of eating Gummy Bears than I was watching some old movie.

I sat crossed legged in front of my dad. I remember him turning up the volume much higher than he normally would.

The movie started, and I was dismayed.

It was some old guy talking to another old guy.

Great, it was going to one of those movies.

I didn't know at the time but the tape was an anniversary addition and I was watching legendary film critic Leonard Maltin interview the man himself, George Lucas.

Eventually, the interview was over and the movie began.

And then it hit me.

John Williams’ score blared through the speakers. The hair on my neck raised, and I got goosebumps. The opening crawl ran and I couldn’t really read, first because I was overtaken by the majesty of the score, and I was confused why I was watching words. I thought I'd been tricked, but I felt something important was happening. As I soon as I saw the blockade runner fleeing the Star Destroyer, I was hooked.

Then, you have maybe the most iconic villain show up, and James Earl Jones’ menacing voice scared the crap out of me.

I sat there and watched everything in rapt attention. It was probably the longer time I had gone without talking. I watched all of it. The first time I saw it is seared into my brain.

As soon as the Death Star blew up and Han and Luke got their medals, I wanted more. I wanted all of it. I was a pint sized addict clamoring for the the galaxy far, far, away.

I ripped the VHS out (it is a small and insignificant point of pride that I got to see the original movies a year before the special editions came out) and shoved the next movie in. I remember sitting in rapt attention while the AT-AT’s lumbered into view on the ice planet Hoth. I would see Yoda for the first time. Five year old me would never believe that little puppet wasn’t real. To me, he was as real my own two hands. I remember Han Solo getting captured and thinking that I’d never see one of my new heroes again. Plus, there was epic showdown between Luke and Darth Vader.

God, when Darth Vader dropped the bomb that he was Luke’s father, it blew my little mind. I was sure my tape lied to me or I got a defective copy. I rewound it over and over until my dad worried it would ruin the tape. I was stunned, but I needed more. I had to find out what happened.

The Return of the Jedi was my favorite as a kid. I was easy to please and Luke’s green lightsaber was the coolest thing in the world. I cheered when the Empire finally fell.

I watched them all that night, well the three available at the time, and it was all I could think about for years. I liked the prequels, and I liked The Force Awakens, I regretfully saw The Last Jedi, but each time I see those original movies, I’m five years old again on the couch with my dad.