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 Christmas, 1978 Deer Park, TX I wasn't sure if I'd have time to get a post together for Christmas. Not having touched my cameras in weeks, the immediate pool of images is dry. I have however been scanning for what seems like decades, archiving our family photos. I've salvaged all the prints from those evil plastic adhesive albums and given access to original negatives from the 40s, 50s, and 60s. From one of those albums comes this Instamatic gem. So much in this photograph hits all the right notes and gets me all tickled with tinsel. First, the Star Wars (natch) TIE Fighter which is still in my possession. 'Nuff said. Luke, your whiny ass is mine. Next, the 3 position Star Wars (double-natch) laser rifle. My brother got the Han Solo blaster pistol and the battle for the galaxy ensued. Moving on we have the KISS radio-control van. I was a sucker for the kabuki-covered marketing machine. A feast for the eyes andears. On top of that lay The Story of Star Wars, another treasure still in my hands. I'm telling you, nothing, and I mean nothing, saved my hide and my mind those years like Star Wars. Onward and upward we have a critical piece of toy history in the Mattel Battlestar Galactica Colonial Viper. When these beauties first adorned the shelves, they shipped with plastic missiles. Small ones. Just the wrong size. On December 31, 1978 (if memory serves), a boy choked to death after shooting the missile into his mouth. A lawsuit soon followed and a lot of blame was placed on the toys of Star Wars. Kenner felt the hit, and the original Boba Fett mail-away action figure with rocket-firing backpack was neutered. I remember sticking my hand in the mailbox for weeks waiting for that cherished piece of articulated plastic to arrive, only to find the rocket glued into the backpack. Following that initial disappointment, I learned why this had happened, and I gave my toys a lot more respect after that. Looking behind this stack of wonder you'll see the green head of the one and only Stretch Monster. This purple-blooded beast was not only fun to try and stretch to the limit, but hurt like hell when thrown at the back of your head. Seriously. Freaking hurt. More than Suckerman. If you turn to your right, just above the menacing and attention-stealing father hands (yes, he was back with us for another year or two after the Ohio debacle) you'll see the feet of the mighty 24' Shogun Warriors Godzilla. My brother got Raydeen that year I believe, but he apparently didn't show up for picture day. And the icing on the cake is the sea of flame on which it all rests. No telling what was lost in that shag. Have a great holiday, whatever yours may be. | |
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Posted by r2blue Archived under: Color, People |
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