My kids, well two out of four, are Star Wars addicts. I have tried to stage an intervention but to no avail. There is nothing I can do. I can't even stem the tide a little; I can only enjoy the ride.
And face the fact that my 8-year old daughter's new name is Ahsoka.
You know how every September, one of the first things your new elementary school teacher ever did was to assign everyone a paper entitled "What I Did Last Summer"? I would bet you a kapillion dollars that my 50%, those two kids, will both write papers that include the phrase "Clone Wars." Never mind the trips to hot climes, the swimming pools, or an entire summer spent with their uncle; for these two, the whole summer was spent in glorious anticipation of what to me is a curious and rather disturbing commercial empire, the CloneWarring of America.
Oh, and I admit I fueled the fire here a little. After all, I'm the parent who bought black boots so someone could be a Jedi (with costume based on the Ewan McGregor Obi Wan Kenobi, obviously), and I'm also the parent who may have had something to do with the arrival of two light sabers under last year's Christmas tree, and I am also the parent of someone planning to legally change his last name to Kenobi. A decision I support, actually.
But. Could I have foreseen the voracity with which my 50%, these two out of four, have embraced what some consider a world created from fantasy? I think not.
And I have no idea where or even how far this will lead. I do know that their thrice-weekly Jedi training seems to be paying off. And it's not a bad thing dealing with two kids sworn to uphold the Jedi code of honor. And a last name of Kenobi certainly is memorable. And not that hard to spell. A few black boot-made scuffmarks on the kitchen floor here and there seem a small price to pay for all that.
My kids, well two out of four, are Star Wars addicts. I have tried to stage an intervention but to no avail. There is nothing I can do. I can't even stem the tide a little; I can only enjoy the ride.
And face the fact that my 8-year old daughter's new name is Ahsoka.
You know how every September, one of the first things your new elementary school teacher ever did was to assign everyone a paper entitled "What I Did Last Summer"? I would bet you a kapillion dollars that my 50%, those two kids, will both write papers that include the phrase "Clone Wars." Never mind the trips to hot climes, the swimming pools, or an entire summer spent with their uncle; for these two, the whole summer was spent in glorious anticipation of what to me is a curious and rather disturbing commercial empire, the CloneWarring of America.
Oh, and I admit I fueled the fire here a little. After all, I'm the parent who bought black boots so someone could be a Jedi (with costume based on the Ewan McGregor Obi Wan Kenobi, obviously), and I'm also the parent who may have had something to do with the arrival of two light sabers under last year's Christmas tree, and I am also the parent of someone planning to legally change his last name to Kenobi. A decision I support, actually.
But. Could I have foreseen the voracity with which my 50%, these two out of four, have embraced what some consider a world created from fantasy? I think not.
And I have no idea where or even how far this will lead. I do know that their thrice-weekly Jedi training seems to be paying off. And it's not a bad thing dealing with two kids sworn to uphold the Jedi code of honor. And a last name of Kenobi certainly is memorable. And not that hard to spell. A few black boot-made scuffmarks on the kitchen floor here and there seem a small price to pay for all that.