Chap 2: Life as we knew it.
Dad bought me when Luke was born. He'd had a bear when he was little, so Luke should have one. A father-son thing you could call it. One of many.
He was so proud to have a son. I don't think late night feedings and stinky diapers ever entered his head during those early days. Dad would go on and on about what he and Luke would do. Baseball games, football games, camping, fishing, taking Luke to work to show him what his old man did (and maybe entice him to join the force). Mom would laugh and remind him that this boy was only a few hours old.
Dad was a tauntaun on ball bearings in the beginning. (Star Wars reference for those who didn't catch that.) He was like any new dad—afraid he'd drop Luke, worried that he'd hurt him if he patted the baby on the back too hard after feeding him. But he and Mom soon got into the swing of things. I think he can still change diapers like a pro.
Anyway, life was pretty great. Luke grew into a typical kid. We had so many adventures—especially to galaxies far, far away. Yep, Luke was a Star Wars fan. Dad had made us watch A New Hope one Saturday, and Luke was instantly hooked. It was because the hero of the story was also named Luke. What little boy *doesn't* want to be a hero? So forget the dreams of the All Stars or being Chief of Police—Luke wanted to be a Jedi Knight. He fashioned a lightsaber out of a paper towel roll and paint. His bike was now an X-Wing, and I was R2-D2. I was tied to the front handlebars (Luke and his friends would argue that I and the other bears should be in back, but it was finally agreed that it was safer to be in front. That was if one of the bears fell off, it would be noticed right away.) and off we would go to fight the evil Empire. When Dad was home, he'd play with us.
But he wasn't home all the time. You see, Dad was a police officer. Most of Luke's friends' parents were. And they all loved it. When they would hear of one mom or dad getting wounded or killed in the line, they would worry. Luke worried about it a lot, usually the nights when Dad wasn't there to tuck us in. On those nights, we'd pray that Dad would come home safely. And he always did.
On the nights he was home, sometimes we would hear Mom and Dad fighting. Mom didn't like Dad's job. She thought it was too dangerous. "Why can't you get a desk job somewhere?" He'd reply: "I like my job, Barbara. I realize the risks."
"You're missing out on your son's life," she'd shoot back.
"He understands," Dad told her, but he never sounded completely convinced.
Luke did understand. Dad was taking bad guys off the streets and making the world a safer place. We were proud of him, even if Mom wasn't.
That aside, life was good. Luke would go to school, we'd play, Dad would be there to watch Star Wars with us whenever he could, and Mom took care of all of us. Yeah, things were great.
Suddenly—Luke was gone. And I was alone.
Dad bought me when Luke was born. He'd had a bear when he was little, so Luke should have one. A father-son thing you could call it. One of many.
He was so proud to have a son. I don't think late night feedings and stinky diapers ever entered his head during those early days. Dad would go on and on about what he and Luke would do. Baseball games, football games, camping, fishing, taking Luke to work to show him what his old man did (and maybe entice him to join the force). Mom would laugh and remind him that this boy was only a few hours old.
Dad was a tauntaun on ball bearings in the beginning. (Star Wars reference for those who didn't catch that.) He was like any new dad—afraid he'd drop Luke, worried that he'd hurt him if he patted the baby on the back too hard after feeding him. But he and Mom soon got into the swing of things. I think he can still change diapers like a pro.
Anyway, life was pretty great. Luke grew into a typical kid. We had so many adventures—especially to galaxies far, far away. Yep, Luke was a Star Wars fan. Dad had made us watch A New Hope one Saturday, and Luke was instantly hooked. It was because the hero of the story was also named Luke. What little boy *doesn't* want to be a hero? So forget the dreams of the All Stars or being Chief of Police—Luke wanted to be a Jedi Knight. He fashioned a lightsaber out of a paper towel roll and paint. His bike was now an X-Wing, and I was R2-D2. I was tied to the front handlebars (Luke and his friends would argue that I and the other bears should be in back, but it was finally agreed that it was safer to be in front. That was if one of the bears fell off, it would be noticed right away.) and off we would go to fight the evil Empire. When Dad was home, he'd play with us.
But he wasn't home all the time. You see, Dad was a police officer. Most of Luke's friends' parents were. And they all loved it. When they would hear of one mom or dad getting wounded or killed in the line, they would worry. Luke worried about it a lot, usually the nights when Dad wasn't there to tuck us in. On those nights, we'd pray that Dad would come home safely. And he always did.
On the nights he was home, sometimes we would hear Mom and Dad fighting. Mom didn't like Dad's job. She thought it was too dangerous. "Why can't you get a desk job somewhere?" He'd reply: "I like my job, Barbara. I realize the risks."
"You're missing out on your son's life," she'd shoot back.
"He understands," Dad told her, but he never sounded completely convinced.
Luke did understand. Dad was taking bad guys off the streets and making the world a safer place. We were proud of him, even if Mom wasn't.
That aside, life was good. Luke would go to school, we'd play, Dad would be there to watch Star Wars with us whenever he could, and Mom took care of all of us. Yeah, things were great.
Suddenly—Luke was gone. And I was alone.