As is the norm with any normal red-blooded moose in their childhood, especially of the male persuasion, I was a little accident-prone. Clutzy. Dangerous to myself and others. And any of the other epitaphs given to me by parents, teachers, friends and emergency personnel of various branches of the police, firefighting and medical fields.

Star Wars in particular had a profound effect on my ability to stay upright and in one piece. I mean, once you see people blasting each other in armor and slashing at each other with burning swords of light, well...if you're an 8 year old kid you gotta try that out. What makes more sense to an 8 year old in 1977 than to emulate all the exploits of Luke and Han? Nothing, I tell you. Nothing held any more clarity to me than the idea of hurling myself into danger and adventure without so much as a bacta tank or a medical droid to come to my aid.

In short, I was an idiot, and I don't deserve to be alive today. But I am. So nyeeah.

Let's take a brief inventory of my Star Wars related injuries over the years of blissful, painful childhood. Keep in mind after every hideous injury, no matter what object I was impaled upon, I still managed to jump up and say "Ta-da!!", much to the pride of my father and the extreme embarrasment of my mother:

Age 7.5 - Tried to use coathanger and string as grappling hook to swing across the cavernous space of my closet. Coathangers are oddly attracted to eyeballs. I retain my eyesight in both eyes. Clearly I am more powerful than I could ever imagine.

Age 7.8 - Attempted to train with lightsaber remote, which looked rather like a chihuahua, and decided to take Obi-Wan's advice and stretch out with my feelings, forgoing the use of my eyes. As I revisit the scene now in Episode IV, I notice there is no coffee table present in front of Luke. 3 stitches, one scarred eyebrow to this very day. I am clearly different from other children. I must have Jedi reflexes.

Age 8 - Went to Hyperspace on top of my swingset / jungle gym in my backyard. Performed Wilhelm, fell 7 feet to my doom. Got up plus one lump on my head. My powers are growing.

Age 8.1 - Jumped off said swingset / jungle gym with a large pointy stick which I declared to be the lightsaber I was going to cleave my sister in half with. Stuck said stick in own neck upon landing. Didn't go through, no stictches were required, only a very large wrap around bandage I wore like an ascot to school for the next week. It was at this point that I discovered I may be a Jedi.

Age 8.3 - Attempted to pilot my make-shift X-Wing craft, courtesy Huffy Bicycles, into the Death Star trench, which turned out to be a sewage pipe maintenance ditch roughly 8 feet long by 3 feet wide. Banana seats hurt when you're at full throttle. Damn it Biggs, where were you?

Age 8.5 - Rebuilt X-Wing craft for a competition at my elementary school. This time contructed it out of much lighter materials, namely garbage bags with a balsam wood space frame. Total destruction occurred just outside of the cafeteria, due to high winds. Was not able to eject in time. I learned 2 things - kites are lame, and I am invincible, even if my own kite attacks me in a 30 mph gust.

Age 8.7 - A brief and fiery lesson in how sparkler firecrackers are not in fact lightsabers. My Force powers are discovered to be weakening.

Age 9 - Get into bloody hand-to-hand combat because my best friend Todd took my C3PO action figure and got sand in the joints. I don't like sand. It's course, and rough, and it gets everywhere. Not like my Leia doll..

Age 11 - Attempt to reenact Darth Vader vs. Luke Skywalker battle over the Cloud City chasm. After learning my classmate was indeed my father, I leapt to my demise 12 feet below, rolled down a rocky drainage gully, and suffered a breach in my Fruit of the Loom space armor. Why didn't you tell me, Ben?

Age 12 - Return of the Moron. Having re-constructed my lightsaber again (having lost the last one in my battle with Darth Dorkwad), I sprang..sprung...whatever into battle, armed with a specially designed flashlight and clear plastic tubing weapon. Because I never completed my training properly, no one told me not to walk around with the wrong end in my mouth, trip against a couch, loosening my 2 front teeth, fattening my lip, and getting a little more intimate with a lightsaber than I had intended. I am a moron, like my father before me.

The list is actually incomplete, but that's because this is a PG-13 board, and well - hey - who wants to know what ended up where and how long it took to remove.

The important thing to remember here is I'd get stitches for Star Wars any day of the week.

All the same, kids, don't try this at home. I'm a professional moose on a closed track.

DM out