May the Fourth Be With You: A Love Letter from a Seven-Year-Old (Who Never Really Left the Theater)

bromack
May 4
4 min read

There are movies you enjoy. There are movies you remember. And then there are movies that re-wire your DNA.

For me, that movie was Star Wars. I was seven years old. And I didn’t just see it…I entered it.

I saw it three times in the theater (that’s all we had back then), returning each time as fast as humanly possible. I remember feeling delightfully nauseous watching Darth Vader’s Tie Fighter spin away after Han Solo cleared the way for Luke to make the miracle shot.

When the lights went down, the crawl began and a galaxy opened. John Williams’ score hit like a hyperspace straight to the chest.

And just like that, I wasn’t a kid in a seat anymore.

I was with Luke Skywalker staring at twin suns, aching for something more. I was dodging danger with Han Solo. I was hanging on every wise word from Obi-Wan. I felt the dark, dangerous presence of Darth Vader and his labored but powerful breath before I even understood what fear, power, or destiny really meant.

More than magic, it was the Force.

What I didn’t know at seven, but would come to understand years later, is that George Lucas had tapped into something ancient. Something universal. He brilliantly embedded the work of Joseph Campbell Hero’s Journey into every frame.

A farm boy called to adventure. A wise, grizzled mentor. Trials in the Death Star. A nearly deadly ordeal in a trash compactor. And a return with and as something greater than himself.

At its core, Star Wars is both simple and revolutionary. It didn’t just entertain, it gave us a language for transformation.

I don’t think even Lucas or Campbell could have predicted what would happen next:That millions of people would begin to see themselves inside that structure; That stories wouldn’t just be watched, they’d be lived.

Day One: Building the Plane in the Air

Fast forward 40 years later. I’m struggling hard in a PhD program. I’ve got a wild (and wildly unpopular) idea: I want to build a storytelling class based on the Hero’s Journey for people with Parkinson’s disease to better understand what they’re thinking and feeling. Why? Because I was tired of people who also don’t know the whole story of the disease telling the people living with the disease what’s happening. What we needed was some radical listening. There was no program like it.

We called it “Day One.” No roadmap. No guarantees. Just a belief that story, truthful, human, well-told story, could change how people understood themselves and lived their lives.

And where did we begin this journey inward? In a galaxy far, far away. Star Wars.

That first session wasn’t about lightsabers or space battles (though, let’s be honest, those helped). It was about identity.

We asked big questions and got big answers:

Why are you resisting the idea you have Parkinson’s?
- Answer: It’s too scary. There’s too much unknown. Who will I be or become if I accept having PD?
Who are your mentors in the Parkinson’s world?
- Answer: More often than not, I’m isolated. The safe and brave space to say the quiet things out loud hadn’t been built. That’s what we were doing.
And the big one: What are you afraid to face?
- The fear of the unknown. Or…the impossible truth of what this is going to do to me.

From “A Long Time Ago” to Right Now

Today, that scrappy “Day One” class has evolved into Cinema Therapy, a space where people living with Parkinson’s and their care partners don’t just consume stories…They become the heroes of their own Success Stories™. And every time we start a new group, somewhere in the DNA of that experience, there’s a farmer looking out at twin suns reminding us all:

You don’t need to be completely ready.
You don’t need to have it all figured out.
You just need to take the next step.

A Standing Ovation Across the Galaxy

So today, on May the Fourth, I say thank you.

To George Lucas for daring to dream bigger.To Joseph Campbell for mapping the human journey.To every artist, composer, actor, designer, and storyteller who helped build a universe that continues to give us meaning, connection, and hope.

And to that seven-year-old kid…You were right to go back three times.