Dear Mr. Lucas,

My eight-year-old son sent his first fan letter today. It was to you.

I dropped it in a big blue box, wishing it well as it makes it’s way to the offices of Lucasfilm. Big truck, plane, little truck, person in blue pressed polyester shorts—I trust each will transport the letter with care.

I ask that you handle my son’s heart with care. He fully expects you to write back to him, answering an all-consuming question. He wants to know how he can meet R2-D2. I understand you may not be able to arrange a meeting. That is okay. R2 is just as busy and popular as ever, making a cameo appearance on a recent “Dancing with the Stars” episode. My son watched the segment nearly twenty times over the course of a week.

After the episode aired, he asked if we could visit www.howdoimeetr2d2.com. I told him it doesn’t exist. For weeks, he schemed and turned over the challenge in his mind.

Can we call George Lucas? He’s not in the phone book, kiddo.

Why? Because very famous people don’t like to be in the phone book.

Does George Lucas have neighbors? Probably. Most people have neighbors.

Could we call George Lucas’ neighbors? Uh. No.

This past weekend we ate lunch at a restaurant at a regional airport. Our table was outside, on a deck overlooking the runway. Many of the planes were private jets. My oldest daughter noted that it was an airport for rich people.

My son excitedly asked if your jet was there.

A little over a year ago, I posted this anecdote on my blog:

Ryley is enthralled with R2-D2. He draws pictures of R2, dreams about R2, and wanted to spend money from his recent birthday on anything R2 splattered. Luke Skywalker? Darth Vader? Who are they? To Ryley, “Star Wars” is R2-D2’s story, slam that book shut.

Last night Ryley and I were sitting on the couch. I was listening to him talk about R2 when he asked this question:

“Daddy told me an actor sits inside R2 and makes him move. Is that true?” he asked, grimly.

“Yep, it’s true.” I answered with that cocked-head-I’m-sorry look on my face.

“Is it David Hasselhoff?”

He owns a real working R2, scaled much smaller than the original. He got it for his birthday and he plays with it all the time. It plays games, bits from the movie, has a drink holder, has the attitude. I never imagined I’d tell a robot to put himself in a time out, but I have. Cheeky.

But it’s no substitute for his dream of meeting the real R2. I can’t explain what it would mean to him. That’s why I encouraged him to use his own words and write to you. I’ll watch him race to the mailbox in the coming weeks and months looking for your response. I could have some explaining to do about fan letters and the busy life of a pioneer filmmaker. It saddens me that I expect him to be disappointed in the end.

Sometimes you have to put your heart out there, or in an envelope sealed with minty glue. What would make me a worse mom? Allowing him to risk failure and disappointment or not encouraging his desire to try?

It’s on its way, Mr. Lucas.