The curious appeal of fantasy

Sunday, Nov. 17, 2024, was an auspicious day. I realize that assessment may be a personal thing.

From your perspective it may have been just another Sunday. Maybe your favorite football team won and maybe they didn’t. It’s possible you don’t even watch football. And that’s okay. Different strokes for different folks.

But is there a line between personal preference and personal delusion? I wouldn’t have thought so. Maybe you like brussels sprouts and maybe you don’t. That’s a personal preference I can respect either way.

This past Sunday I got a glimpse into an aspect of human behavior that caught me off guard, though. Adult human behavior.

Now, without casting aspersions on the character of total strangers, I can readily admit that we’re all different. Some of us have goals and wishes that matter very much to us. Those same goals and wishes can be easily disregarded as a silly waste of time by others.

One example of this disparity of thought might be illustrated by my decision to accompany my seven-year-old grandson, his brother, his father, and my daughters on a journey to pilot the Millenium Falcon on a mission through deep space against violent aggressors. Yes, I did this. Even at my advanced age I can muster up enough exuberance and fortitude to pretend to be on a great adventure with a young boy whose imagination is filled with things his brain can’t fully comprehend yet.

It was Charlie’s birthday. You have to make allowances for these leaps of fancy when it’s the boy’s birthday.

The setting for this adventure was Disney’s Hollywood Studios in the heart of Florida’s tourist district. Prepare for traffic. The highway won’t so much flow as creep. It’s a thing.

The ride is called Millenium Falcon: Smuggler’s Run. The line for entry is long, but it moves reasonably well. As the anticipation built in my grandson’s over-excited brain, the volume of his voice grew, and grew, and grew. It was amazing and thoroughly entertaining.

In front of us and behind were literally hundreds of others, mostly adults, preparing to make the same journey. Some seemed to be taking this adventure as seriously as my grandchildren were. Some, even more.

“Granddaddy’s a pilot,” screamed Charlie. “Me and Granddaddy are the pilots. You’re the gunners,” he announced pointing to his brother and number 1 aunt. “You’re the engineers.” His dad and number 2 aunt took up those last positions.

“That’s perfect,” I complimented the boy. “I know Han Solo, ya’ know. So, I can fly this with you. No doubt.”

Let me be clear on this point. I don’t actually know Han Solo. That would be implausible since he’s a fictional character. I have met and had a brief conversation with Harrison Ford, however. The actor who played Han Solo. So, I embellished for the benefit of Charlie’s enjoyment of the moment.

I have every confidence Harrison couldn’t pick me out of a line-up. I’m equally sure he wouldn’t take the time to try. I’m comfortable with that.

A woman standing with the group ahead of us suddenly took great interest in Charlie and me. “How did you manage to meet him?” she purred. I just shook my head and said, “We’re both pilots,” as if that was a sufficient answer.

Charlie had a great time piloting the Millenium Falcon with me. But then, that’s the way the ride is designed. It tosses the riders about, smashes through mountains and buildings, fires on raiders in fast ships, captures a payload of materials critical to the Resistance, and lands safely. It’s all good. Yay!

The affection for Star Wars runs deep in some segments of society. I get it. When the first Star Wars movie came out, I was a teenager. My friends and I went to see it several times. It amazed us.

However, it is just a movie. It’s not real. Not even a little bit. I can’t visit Tatooine, or Hoth, Naboo. I can’t really fly the Millenium Falcon (and neither can Harrison Ford). It’s all fantasy. Easy to love. Impossible to live.

Or so I thought.

Surprisingly large numbers of adult human beings were seen all over the park dressed in Star Wars related attire. Some wore makeup to enhance the effect of their adopted persona. They carried light sabers. They custom built weapons to be used in the next attack. Marching with pride in groups or independently they carried themselves with the air of a bounty hunter on a mission, or a soldier on patrol, or a renegade pilot searching for a payday.

At the same time and in the same place, as the sun set low in the western sky, a streak of flame and smoke raced upward in the east. A Falcon 9 rocket lifted off the pad, climbed into the sky, accelerating at phenomenal speed, headed for space with a payload of communication satellites on board.

I watched the rocket go and felt a sense of wonder that I experience every time I witness a launch. This spacecraft was in full view of the many thousands of people scattered around the park. I saw none of them take notice. The vertical column of smoke glowed bright white as the low angle of the sun reflected off it. The orange flame of the rocket was clearly visible as it pushed its payload ever higher through a crisp, blue sky.

The reality of a space craft launch that could easily be viewed with the naked eye was apparently of no real interest to the masses wrapping themselves in costumes as they carried plastic replicas of make-believe weapons in an attempt to mimic other worldly characters. Pretending to fly a fictional spacecraft took precedence over witnessing an actual spacecraft go on its way.

There is a place in this world for fantasy. There is a time to hug little boys and ply them with cake on their birthday. Yet if any of us yearn for real adventure or if we want to travel in space and visit distant interstellar bodies, that opportunity exists in real life. General aviation may be the best doorway to that life, as it has been for many decades now.

What is the appeal of fantasy over reality? I may never understand that one. I’m trying though.