A Long time ago, in a galaxy not so far away, a University Chicago auditorium opened its doors in the late dusk to admit a gaggle of parents, children and students. It was the early 80’s, perhaps 1981. Ronald Reagan was the President. My young educator parents were raising 2 young boys and given our paltry finances, a movie night was a big deal (even if the film had been released 2 years previously). And it wasn’t just any old movie. This was our first chance to finally see what had — by this point in time — become a juggernaut of pop culture: Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope.

I cannot say how much I actually remember from that first viewing (I was just shy of being five years old, afterall). As a fact of science, our grasp of veracity and our memory is notoriously unreliable.  And with a film like Star Wars that has been watched endlessly on VHS, Laserdisc, DVD and finally in digital Imax upon release in 1999, discreet viewings bleed together like storm troopers in a wide shot.

But I am pretty sure I remember the music. I remember the excitement of Great Action, Terrible Villains and True Heroes. I remember, to paraphrase Bad Papa West, the Magic. And I also remember debating very hotly with my brother who we would rather be: Luke Skywalker, or Han Solo. Naïve soul that I was at the time, I wanted to be Luke. Begrudgingly I will now admit that my older brother was right. It was always about Han.

Han Solo (and his more scholarly cousin Indiana Jones) fast became THE hero of my childhood. That intergalactic hot-rodding rogue turned reluctant knight errant and savior of the Rebel Alliance was the absolute coolest. Luke Skywalker may have had The Force, but Han Solo was a quick draw with a blaster pistol. Han had a Wookie for a wingman. Han had the swagger of an ace pilot. Han had the Millennium Falcon. And of course Han had Princess Leia. No contest.

Hells yes.

So when the rumors began swirling that Han Solo would return – and Harrison Ford would reprise his most iconic role – I was not happy.   As much as I love Star Wars, I think I know why.

Bringing Old Han Solo back bums me out because it’s making me feel old too.

I truly want to share Star Wars with my kids. But it is not going to be MY Star Wars anymore. It’s going to be a Star Wars where Han Solo is old (kinda like me). Han is no Obi Wan: a Jedi Master made more powerful with years and Jedi mastery. Han Solo was always brash, fast and best off the cuff – the embodiment of a gunslinger in his prime. Bringing Old Han Solo back bums me out because it’s making me feel old too.

Old Han Solo means sharing Star Wars and making way for a new guard of fresh-faced heroes. And while I love my kids more than anything, maybe I don’t need to share everything with them.

So if Magic is made up of secrets, of sacred things hidden from the light, then Old Han Solo is akin to dragging these secrets and memories out into the harsh light of day and exposing them for the cheap tricks they are. All those silly trapdoors and hidden pockets that were so amazing to uninformed eyes seem banal upon examination. Perhaps I am being overly sensitive. But I really wish Hollywood would stop looting my childhood for my most sacred treasures. Go mint your own damn heroes for the kids and stop messing with mine.