I used to play with Star Wars action figures with my friend Jason.

We were both 8 at the time. I’d originally gotten the figures in hopes of playing with my brother, who was a total science fiction freak. I was never a science fiction freak, but I did have a burning little sister-need to be included in his activities.

I even offered once to be a bike jump for him and his friend Hunter around age 5, thinking that perhaps this would make me invaluable. I lay face-down on the ground, and Hunter rode his bike over me really fast. He caught a minimum of air, and it didn’t even hurt that much.

I was willing to do it again. But my brother wouldn’t try it. He’s always been sensitive like that.

He refused to play action figures with me, though, because I never really followed the Star Wars plot lines. That, and his friends probably thought I was a dork.

So I turned to Jason.

Jason had quite a few of the characters in miniature form, but all I had was Leias. I was definitely a girly girl, so I didn’t want my own Boba Fett or Luke Skywalker; all I wanted was the Leia with the cinnamon-bun-hair, the Leia in the soldier-y clothes, the Leia in the dress, and the Leia in the weird outfit she wore when Jabba had her chained around the neck.

When we would play, Jason would get caught up in making his characters mutilate one another, or knock each other off of the bed or the shelf. This was fun enough to watch, but when I would try and get in there, Jason would protest.

“What are you doing with Leia?”

“She’s sitting with Han Solo. They are in love.” He cringed.

“No! Why don’t you make her shoot someone? There’s a stormtrooper right there!”

“I don’t want to shoot someone. I just want to sit her here.” Then I went to kiss Han Solo with my Leia, and Jason lost it.

“Ugh, why did you do that?”

“It’s in the movie! They kiss!” I was indignant. At eight, I had a huge crush on Han Solo, not yet knowing he would grow old and date Calista Flockhart.

“I don’t care what’s in the movie. I don’t want you to do that. If you’re going to have fun, you have to stop being such a girl. You have to learn to fight. Boys fight. Boys are better at action figures.” He glared at me, Luke in one hand, Han in the other.

I was completely hurt. So I hauled out the big guns.

“No girl is ever going to kiss you! EVER!” After issuing this crushing blow, I took my Leias and walked away. We never played Star Wars action figures again.

Little did I know, Jason would turn out to be gay.

I don’t know if he still has the action figures.

Do you know what de-lurking is? No?

Do it anyway.

Why?

Because Sheryl says so.

Well, and a fair amount of other people. Why? Because it’s National De-lurking Week.

All that means is that bloggers are looking to hear from EVERYONE who reads their blogs, right there in their comments… not just the same 1 or 5 or 20 or 200 people that comment daily (highly variant around here, depending on the entry.) Not that those people aren’t loved and not that they aren’t enough all on their own. Because they are.

It’s just nice to hear from everyone else.

It’s not just a need for attention, though I’d say that’s a part of it. I mean, if you’re writing on the Internet, some part of you wants to be read. And if you have comments open, some part of you wants a response. It may not be WHY you write, but it’s a side benefit.

But it’s also kind of weird — and I mean weird, not bad — that there are hundreds of people who come here daily — not via search terms or click-throughs from other blogs, even, but from bookmarks — and they never say a word.

Not a peep.

Not even a little something.

Even when you stop by several times a day.

I understand this, of course… maybe you feel like you have nothing to say. Maybe you feel like commenting is just looking for attention on someone else’s website. Maybe you are tracking me for the CIA and you’re forbidden to speak. Maybe you have nothing to add to the discussion. Maybe it takes too much time. Maybe you can only think of mean things and you feel that this would be counterproductive (though I have no idea why you’d keep coming back, if that were the case.) Maybe you think comments are stupid.

But. Hi. I’d like to know that you are a real person and not a bot, just this once. Because you’re here every day, and like that guy in line at the coffee shop, I’d love to know your back story.

SO!

How are you?