I was watching the much maligned Attack of the Clones the other day, and I just couldn't help but pause - and replay a couple of times - the elevator scene. You know - the one in which Obi-wan and Anakin are ascending one of Coruscant's towering buildings to offer Jedi protection to now Senator Padmé Amidala. It's the first time we seen the pair in 10 years (oh, let your imagination allow you to believe this! Remember what Yoda says: "Truly wonderful the mind of a child is." Aren't we all children, or at least young, at heart? ). This is the first scene - and the best scene - that sets the stage for our understanding of Anakin's and Obi-wan's relationship. It is the scene that allows Obi-wan's heart-wrenching "You were my brother, Anakin. I loved you!" outburst at the end of Revenge of the Sith to be all the more heart wrenching, at least for me. My eyes well up every time I see the pained expression on Obi-wan's face in that ROTS scene - and it's all because of these few seconds of film in AOTC.

It is but one still moment in a galaxy far, far away that may be so easy to dismiss for many people, but has stuck in my head since the first time I saw AOTC.

Here is Obi-wan - Anakin's best friend, his mentor, his father figure all rolled up into one neat (and oh-so-handsome [this coming from a LILWL fan! ]) package. It isn't so much what the two say to each other, but the way in which they say it. (Those of you have been kind enough to read my blogs in the past know non-verbal communication speaks volumes to me. This scene is no exception.)

Obi-wan: " You seem a little on edge."
Anakin: "Not at all."
Obi-wan: "I haven't felt you this tense since, since we fell into that nest of gundarks."
Anakin: "You fell into that nightmare, Master, and I rescued you. Remember?"
*pause*
Obi-wan: "Oh. Yes."
Obi-wan allows himself a quiet chuckle as he recalls that episode that is left to our imaginations; Anakin visibly relaxes, and a smile spreads across his young features. He gives his head a slight shake as if thinking that it is an all-too-common experience to have to remind his learned Master of the true facts that mark the moments in their lives. So forgetful is Obi-wan. A warm look passes across Obi-wan's face as he recalls that harrowing episode, and, as well, that, without wanting to give anything away, he is well aware of why Anakin is a little on edge.

Through this simple exchange, we're given a glimpse into the history these two young men share. They've gotten themselves into a pickle or two over the course of time. They've saved each other's hides on more than one occasion. They've laughed. They've anguished. They've grown. Anakin from waif to padawan on the verge of becoming a full-fledged Jedi Knight. Obi-wan from padawan to Knight to Master. Each of them wears his mantle well.

In this scene, I can't help but compare myself to Obi-wan - probably because I am closer to his stage in the second chapter of the saga we hold dear than I am to Anakin's (but Anakin and his journey never are far from my thoughts - even though I am a LILWL ). In this one scene, we see everything that Obi-wan is to Anakin, and the older Jedi is able to switch from one role to another so effortlessly. It's a pity Anakin doesn't understand all of Obi-wan's roles - some of which Obi-wan knows he soon will have to abandon. Anakin is almost old enough to shed his padawan "robes", and, once he does, Obi-wan knows his charge will be off on his own. Forget that Anakin is the Chosen One. Soon he'll solo, and Obi-wan won't be around to pull him out of any scrapes.

It's what I think about now that I am the parent of a new college student. My padawan's dreams are beginning to materialize into reality, and, while she has confidence that she will be all that she knows she can be, like Anakin, she experiences a bit of nervousness from time to time, and sees her mentor (in this case, me ) as someone who holds her back from doing everything she wants to do. Case in point . . . last week, we were talking about the end of the school year (I know second semester has just started, but we have to plan ahead because she is going to school so far away from home). I told her I would fly out to LA, help her pack up (which means I'll be doing most of the packing since she'll be in the midst of finals). We'll then load up a rent-a-car, and head back to Wisconsin. "I can drive myself back, Mom," she told me. Inwardly, I laughed. Not guffawed, mind you. I just laughed. Inwardly, though. Like Obi-wan, I didn't want her to know my initial response. My padawan is a fine driver, and, while she is not afraid to head into new territory (much like her ol' mama! ) as she expands her world, she has a hard time making it from one end of our county to another without getting . . . well, lost. As her parent, the thought of her driving solo halfway across the country, through the Tatooine desert and Geonosian mountains and Kasshyyyk forests and Naboo grassy plains makes me . . . well, rather wary. I admit it. She's never set out on an undertaking such as this before, and, while I don't want to hold her back from what she feels would be an incredible adventure (especially since I know that sometimes, in getting lost, we find our true selves), the thought of an 18-year-old young woman traveling by herself across unfamiliar terrain for such long stretches (she never has been behind the wheel for more than 30 minutes at a time. Imagine those 10-hour-driving days!) just does not sit very well with me. Thus, I think we'll compromise. I will let her plan the route home - and she'll have to do at least some of the driving!

This single scene in AOTC is what I think about when I look back on the March day in 2007 when my padawan got word that she was accepted into USC's film school. As she slowly opened the envelop that contained the school's easily identifiable logo in the return address, I could tell she was nervous. I was nervous myself. It was something she wanted so badly - to be accepted by this fine school just as Anakin was nervous about wanting Padmé to see him as a man, not as the little boy she knew 10 years earlier - and all I could do was hold my breath for a few moments before uttering, "You know, it wouldn't be the end of the world if you didn't get accepted. You put together an excellent application, but we both know how competitive and how hard it is to get into that school. You know they accept only about 50 applicants." (She applied to the production school. Like GL, she wants to be a director who happens to love editing. ) I wanted to soften the blow in case the letter didn't contain the words she longed for so much. I could see the myriad of emotions wash over her features as she silently read the letter, and then she shared its contents with me. She got in!!!!! The strangers sitting on USC's film school board saw in her what I've seen and known all these years!!! (I still haven't come down from Cloud 9 - not because I want to live vicariously through my child, but because I am so happy for her, for what she has been able to accomplish . . . and it doesn't hurt that I know she's walking the same hallways that GL walked roughly 40 years ago! )

In the months that spanned from that moment to the moment I left her at school in August, I tried to impart the last lessons I thought were necessary to pass on to her before she truly was on her own. Her father and I had been preparing her for that moment for almost 18 years, but there still was so much more to teach her so she'd be ready to face life alone. I mean, I'd always be here, but, in reality, she'd have only herself on whom to depend. As I mull over everything I have told her, tried to teach her, I wonder if there was something - something important - I may have missed. I hope not. I wanted, too, for those last months to be months filled with happy memories on which she'd look back and smile. I know, though, that oftentimes I took a more serious approach to our time together, more serious than I really wanted. I think parents get more and more serious as the moment nears when they have to let their children go because life, while fun, truly is a serious matter. Parents want to make sure their children are prepared, and Obi-wan took his parental role very seriously.

A lot of fans criticize Obi-wan for the way he raised Anakin. "If only he did this . . ." "If only he had done that . . ." fans have lamented. Even I have played the "If only" card. Well, hindsight is 20/20 (which is not perfect vision, by the way! ), and one can't go back. All one can do is the best s/he can, and I think Obi-wan did a top-notch job! He loves Anakin very much, and, if you look closely, you can see it in his features in this one still moment in a galaxy far, far away. He doesn't utter those three words, but it's evident in the look on his face - from his Jedi intuition noticing Anakin's edginess to his semi-stern look on his face in the moments following their shared recollection to his warm chuckle at their shared joke. I am not trying to find fault with Anakin. I just see life through Obi-Wan's eyes in this particular instance. And, as the wise sage stated many years later to another young Jedi, "... you're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view."

I appreciate the fact that you've stuck with me all this while. I know this has been a rather lengthy entry. Who would have thought that a single still moment in a galaxy far, far away would spur one to such thoughts, but it has. It hasn't been the first time for me, and I doubt it will be the last!

Have a wonderful day, and, as always,

MTFBWY
JMW

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