When the announcement came down that Disney would be the owner of Star Wars, my first thought was a simple, “wow”. No capitalization, no exclamation point, no vitriolic anger, no uncontrollable jubilance. Just…

Wow.

In the time that’s passed, I can say that I am thrilled. Forget about the prequels, forget about the Greedo Incident, forget about “Nooooooooooo!” Because as much as I love Star Wars – and I loves me some Star Wars – I love what Star Wars opened up to me in 1977, when I was 10 years old.

There weren’t a lot of Star Wars kids in my school. Or at least, not many that would come forward and proudly display their lunchboxes, customized Trapper Keepers, or dog-eared comics or novelizations. Star Wars was, in my particular playground scene, a markedly uncool way to get your kicks. But it didn’t matter.

From the moment the opening crawl gave way to the Tantive IV flying across the screen, blasters blazing, I was hooked – a full-on, hardcore, raging, may-the-force-be-with-you spouting junkie. I spent my days sketching in the open spaces of my schoolbooks (Vader’s TIE fighter was always particularly tricky) and spent my evenings pouring over any and all magazines or articles I could find (thank you, Starlog!)

So fixated and enamored with Star Wars had I become, I even faced the humiliation of my classmates and the discipline of my parents after being sent home with a note from my teacher, informing my parents that I had become “too preoccupied with Star Wars.” For the record, my folks never really made much of stink about it (they took me, many times, to the re-releases as they too were just as enamored.)

Over the years, that love has ebbed and flowed… it’s bubbled up with each release, announcement or rumor, and subsided when things have cooled or just didn’t quite click the way my 10-year old self would have wanted (or remembered). But that love has never completely gone away.

And I love that, now, because Disney knows full and well not to just rest idly on a goldmine property and let it stagnate*, my daughter may very well get a chance to experience a Star Wars for her, on her terms and in her own time, in much the same way.

Sure, I can expose her to the original trilogy, I can suffer through the weaker points of the prequels (or rather, I can patiently wait for the handful of awesome parts in the prequels), and I can try and build a mystique of “what it was like and how cool it was and May of ’77 and blabbidy blah blah” days gone by. And that’s all well and fine.

And biased.

But now I don’t have to. There will be all new adventures, new rides, new games, new toys… and they may not even appeal to me. And they are hers to explore… or completely disregard. (Though not avoid, as the minute Disney announces the Star Wars-themed hotel I am imagining in my head, we are booking a trip to Orlando).

So, for the first time since the announcement of the prequels, I’m geeking out and jazzed about Star Wars again. And because of the prequels, I’m well aware that Star Wars is not always MY Star Wars. And that’s cool, too. But at least, now and once again, there is something tangible. Something to imagine…

And I can imagine quite a bit.

*The earlier years with the Muppets not withstanding.