I realized sometime last year that even at age 4, there was already a language barrier between my son and me. Simply put: He is a boy. I am a girl. He speaks sports and Star Wars. I speak sensitivity and style. (And other things, too… I’m just trying to make a point though. So go with it).

At some point, in the last year or two, he was introduced to Luke Skywalker and all things Jedi and his world changed. Instead of grilling me about how a light bulb works or a vacuum sucks up dirt, at breakfast I am challenged to a discussion of how Darth Vader got his training and why the dark side is so “dark” after all. (Or something like that. Again, I don’t even understand what he’s saying).

Despite intense theater training at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, short of swinging around a light saber (or “light saver” as he refers to it) and making “throw the force” sounds, I SUCK at playing Star Wars. Refer to exhibit A below. In this world of make believe, “bad is gooder,” “Obi was Kenobi,” and I’m a clueless Jedi Knight.


FILED UNDER: A Little Life

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