WHEN we first met way back then in Andy's room, my impression of Buzz was not a good one. He seemed to me short, fat and, well, very plastic. His clothes were ridiculous and parts of him flashed. Worst of all, he appeared to be wearing a goldfish bowl on his head.
But then he spoke and my opinion changed. I realised he was a total idiot. He seemed to be under the impression that he was from outer space, that he was some kind of superhero type. He said he had to defend the galaxy - wherever that is - against the evil emperor Zog or Borg, or something.
It got worse. He was trying to get back to his mothership. He thought he'd crash-landed on our "planet". He said he came in peace, whereas it was blatantly obvious he came in a cardboard box like the rest of us.
Then there was the breathing incident, when his goldfish bowl came off accidentally and he writhed around as if he was going to be poisoned or crushed by the atmosphere, or something, until he realised he could breathe the air safely.
It would have been funny if it wasn't so darn pathetic.
The thing I didn't understand about Buzz then was that, like a lot of superhero types, he was a bit of a manic-depressive. When, much later, I finally made him realise he was a toy, he couldn't cope with the realisation.
He just collapsed into despair. It pulled him apart (literally).
Like I say, that's the difference between being a superhero and being someone like me, who I guess you could say is just an ordinary-guy hero. Seeing him like that sure made me glad I was just an old cowboy.
But anyway, back at the start, relations between me and Buzz quickly became strained. The attitude of my so-called friends - the other toys in Andy's room didn't help. For years I'd acted as their protector and organiser, asking nothing in return but basic respect and maybe just a little adulation. But as soon as Mr Space Hero arrived in our world, I suddenly became yesterday's cowboy.
They thrilled to his whole cheap bag of tricks - his laser beam, his karate-chop action, his in-built microphone and all the rest. They gazed at his silly collection of buttons like it was a control panel for a space station.
Worst of all, they started treating me disrespectfully - something that never, never would have happened in the old days. I became a figure of fun.
Having an old-fashioned ring-pull made me a clown, all of a sudden.
Then there was the "flying" episode, which contributed to Buzz's legend but only worsened the tension between us. Buzz could no more fly than a rattlesnake, but he had these pop-out "wings" as part of his equipment.
That was OK with me - I have spurs on my boots though I've never hand a horse. That's just part of what it means to be a toy.
But Buzz was convinced he could fly. So in order to relieve him of this dangerous notion (and - OK - also to stop this pathetic hero worship which was building up around him), I challenged him to try, confident he would fall on his fat spaceman's face.
It was for his own good. Better he find out in the safety of Andy's bedroom than somewhere he could come to more harm.
Well, don't ask me how. But by a mixture of luck and an accidental impact with an over-inflated ball, he managed this exaggerated aerial loop before he came down. He must have defied the law of gravity for all of about three seconds.
It would have been obvious to a toy of even average intelligence that he'd just got lucky, but there weren't many toys that smart in Andy's room.
As for Buzz himself, well, the delusions of grandeur he had in those days blinded him to what, with his scientific background and all, he should have known.
(Not that I was ever convinced of his scientific background - certainly not after the time he mistook a pizza delivery van for a spaceship. I may be a dumb cowboy, but I know what a horse looks like.)
Well, something had to give, sooner or later. But I never meant to push him out the window that time, honest I didn't. I still don't know exactly how it happened. When he ended up in Sid's back yard, I was as shocked as everyone else.
Sid represented evil incarnate to us. Some of the things we'd seen him do to his toys, I wouldn't have wished on anyone. Not anyone.
But the gang knew about the feelings between me and Buzz and it was useless protesting my innocence. Mr Potato Head and Hamm the pig treated me like a Judas, and Slinky Dog was his usual spineless self.
As for Rex the dinosaur, I guess you could say our friendship was threatened with extinction. So was Buzz, if I couldn't get him out of Sid's grasp.
Well, I'm not going to bore you with the whole saga of what happened over there - I reckon most people know it by now anyway. The important thing is that through the experience, me and Buzz got over our mutual animosity and learned to help each other out. And in the process, we learned a lot more about ourselves.
I came to feel sorry for ol' Buzz. Sure he had this cool, flashy exterior, but he was just a big softie on the inside. He was a toy like the rest of us, but he'd had this superman thing thrust upon him and thought he had to live up to it.
A lot of guys are like that. When he realised his limitations he became a good buddy to me and, I believe, a better toy.
As for me, I came to realise that I didn't have to feel threatened just because I no longer had total control over the rest of the toy collection. I learned to just content myself with being what I was an old cowboy.
I realised Buzz is just another manifestation of the desire in all of us to have heroes we can emulate. I guess you could say that where I was king of the old frontier, Buzz is king of the new frontier.
What's that he always says? "To infinity and beyond!" Well, I'm right behind you, pardner!
Finally, however, may I just add that I believe the excessive demand for Buzz Lightyear dolls is a sad reflection on our modern world. It seems to me we continually turn our backs on what is tried and trusted (like, say, cowboy toys) to chase after unfulfillable fantasies and pipe dreams (like space heroes).
This is not the path to true happiness, children. Woody
