He’s Leia, I’m Yoda.

A conversation that just twisted the knife in my Waldorf-aspiring heart:

Me: Sweetie, you do not have to hide that you are reading that Star Wars book. I’m not going to be mad.
Boy: You’re not?
Me: No! I’ve loved Star Wars since I was little. I saw it when I was five. I consider myself a big fan.
Boy: I’m a fan, too. You and me, mama, we’re fans of Star Wars. In terms of Star Wars, we’re the same.

[Note: he’s never seen the movie, just heard the story and looked at a book we received this week entitled The Sounds of Star Wars by Ben Burtt. Before you get all outraged, yes, he has seen movies recently, no, he’s not a pariah, he’s just protected and, until recently, not really interested. As far as Star Wars goes, he’s in it for the story so far. It helps that his uncles bought him a plastic gun. Thanks, uncles.]

Later, we’re outside. He’s Leia, I’m Yoda. After much negotiating, I must add, because he really only wanted me to be a character that would “carry a gun” and “fight”. I had to convince him that I didn’t need to carry a gun to fight. Of course, it meant that I spent the afternoon avoiding green cars (Darth Vader’s ships) and talking in a modified Yoda voice (not that it mattered to him, having never seen it). Each cross-street was an asteroid belt, each block was a planet and each rain-puddle was a cell of the Rebellion. Splashing in the puddle meant you were transferring vital information to that rebel cell. When our ship would break down (as all good ships do), we did 3x and 4x skip counting (using the sidewalk squares) to get our ship back in order.

Just in time. All those white cars are full of stormtroopers.

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