The Star Wars bond between fathers and their children

I am a professor of law, with an interest in regulatory policy. I did not expect, ever, to write a paragraph, let alone a book, about Star Wars. But in 2015, the planets seemed to align when my little boy, then five years old, became obsessed with Darth Vader, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Luke Skywalker — and when my big girl, in her twenties, texted me this right after seeing The Force Awakens: “I burst into tears during the opening credits. . . . First time we didn’t see it together!”

The Star Wars movies are all about fathers, and about much how their children need them. Their deepest theme is simple: Any father can be redeemed, and his soul can be saved, so long as his kid loves him.

I’m in the midst of a tour for my improbable book, and I have talked to hundreds of people about Star Wars, and here’s something I didn’t anticipate at all: The sheer number of fathers who come up to me, telling tales about seeing the movies with their young children — and the sheer number of sons and daughters who come up to me, telling tales about seeing the movies with their fathers. In nearly every case, people become misty-eyed at the memories.

I’ve been privileged to have done a lot of things in my life. But until now, I’ve never felt like a therapist.

One father told me about taking his son in 1977, then three years old, to A New Hope — directly from the hospital, after a serious operation. I asked, “Did he like the movie?” He responded, “He loved it!” I asked, does he remember going with you, almost forty years ago? He answered, “As if it were yesterday.” When he asked me to sign the book for his grown (healthy) son, I teared up myself.

For four years, I worked in the Obama Administration, overseeing regulatory policy, but Star Wars connects fathers, whatever they think of the Affordable Care Act, the Environmental Protection Agency or the Internal Revenue Service. Recently I spoke to a libertarian-leaning group, mostly men, whose members have no enthusiasm for President Obama. After five minutes of discussing Star Wars, we were a band of brothers.

At the American Enterprise Institute, my hosts began the discussion with music from the Star Wars saga, now songs of national unity. I focused my remarks on Darth Vader’s decision to save his son’s life, and Luke Skywalker’s definitive declaration: “I am a Jedi, like my father before me.” At least one father in the room had lost a son — and many of them had lost fathers. When I recited Luke’s line, you could hear a pin drop. Who’s a Republican, and who’s Democrat? Who could possibly care?

For countless people, going to Star Wars is a precious memory — a kind of connection with those who are old or gone. Several people (men and women, both) have told me independently, “My Dad absolutely hated those movies, but he sat through them. He knew that I loved every one!” Many more have told me that as children, they sat awestruck with their father, astonished, as the Imperial Destroyer filled the screen and Luke Skywalker came to know the Force.

Sometimes people talk about recently seeing the movies with their grandchildren, having seen them long ago with their children. Sometimes people talk about recently seeing the movies with their own children, having seen them long ago with their parents. Several people have told me that their father gave them Star Wars toys when they were children — and added, with incredulity and deep emotion, that their own children are playing with those same toys now.

Love them, like them, or neither, the resonance of the Star Wars movies, and the extent to which they link generations, is astonishing to behold.

Cass Sunstein's new book is The World According to Star Wars, on sale now.