My son has a very succinct Christmas List: Jason Witten jersey, a Mystic Ranger Red Power Ranger Sword, a General Grievous, and a Boba Fett.
How is my never-seen-a-Star-Wars-movie son so engrossed in the same thing I was engrossed in thirty years ago?
You can blame his Nana (who faithfully saved tens of probably-lead-tainted Star Wars figures from my youth. Eh. I turned out okay, right? RIGHT?) And I suppose you can blame his best friends' parents, who let his friend watch Jedis cut Siths into tiny pieces with laser sabers and hate.
Thanks to a couple books written for fourth graders, my 4 year old can spell "Darth Vader", tell you that Palpatine is secretly Darth Sidious, tell the difference between Boba and Jengo Fett, and tell you what color light saber Mace Windu wields as he prepares to undo the evil-doers.
My son is a sponge.
And he's been soaking up the Star Wars trivia.
He has embraced, for instance, the adage that "the bad guys look cooler than the good guys, but the good guys always win." Which gets ever more complicated when we also know that my wife's friend is in the throes of an ugly divorce from a local cop.
He knows that storm troopers are clones. And that clones come from one daddy. And that they are all the same. And that they can't think for themselves. But they have really cool guns. So he'd like to be a clone, maybe.
Fortunately he likes Yoda. Yoda is as good as it gets right? He's a fucking MUPPET for cripes sake. What's good-er than a muppet? Men can fail. Cops get corrupted. Jedis can turn to the dark side. But Jim Henson? He's like the patron saint of positivity.