Newest Weakness: Achilles Scalp

Yesterday, I couldn’t think – all day. I had the strangest headache. Neither drugs nor naps helped.

Then I noticed that my arms were sunburned. It must have happened while watching my son’s football practice. The unprotected tip of my head must have gotten some sunburn too. When I showed it to my son, he was impressed, saying it looked like Darth Vader’s head underneath his helmet.

Cool. A small consolation for an unpleasant headache.

Thankfully, I also found the cure. To soothe my crisped scalp I rubbed on a bit of olive oil – thanks George Costanza.

Mythic Journey: Endor, Hogwarts, and Philadelphia

My son and my brother share a bond. They were born on the same day and have innumerable similarities (such as an interest in watching and playing sports) not shared with me. This proves yet again that the Almighty has a great sense of humor. I was a terrible big brother, beyond the tormenting typical of big brothers I was fundamentally opposed to his existence – I had lobbied for a dog. My father was allergic to dogs. I countered (throughout my childhood) that I was allergic to my brother. In my son I am getting the chance to right my ancient wrongs. He is the little brother I always wanted.

My son had seen two of the three original Star Wars movies. My brother and I had discussed meeting at his place near Philly to watch one of the movies on his big-screen TV – but plans kept falling through (my brother is handicapped with having a regular job). The whole thing was looking less and less likely as my brother will soon have a child of his own. But then I checked my calendar and saw my son’s school was closed last Monday.*

Daddy, Where are we going?
I called my brother and everything worked. I decided to surprise my son.

So, Sunday afternoon I surreptitiously loaded the car, and told my son to come join me for a couple of errands. We put on a CD of Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix on and began driving. After about an hour, he asked me where we were going? I told him, “Some errands.”

We stopped at a rest stop, where I bought him the forbidden elixir – Coca-Cola. I said, “Here it is! Isn’t this cool, all these restaurants and shops, right on the highway?”

“Yeah, it is neat,” he answered, “Is this really where we are going?”

“Get back in the car.” Events at Hogwarts continued to unfold.

Half an hour later he asked if we were heading home yet. No, we hadn’t done any errands. A little after that he asked again, “Daddy, where are we going?”

I told him to look at the highway signs. Harry Potter’s battle against Voldemort continued.

We passed under a highway sign directing us to Philadelphia and everything clicked. My the little Goof put it together instantly yelling, “We are going to my uncle’s house to watch Return of the Jedi!”

The Main Event – WARNING: Plot Spoilers Ahead
We had pizza and age appropriate drinks and watched favorite scenes from the first two movies. Then we sat down and watched. My son loved it, no boring parts – every scene, he said, had a battle. I asked, “What about when Yoda died?”

My brother chimed in, “He was fighting for his life.”

Although they were criticized by some of my more cynical friends as “teddy bears with guns,” my son loved the Ewoks – probably because they were in fact teddy bears with guns. It occurred to me that a great deal of planning must have gone into the Ewok attack on the Storm Troopers, giant log traps and catapults don’t just build themselves.

Archetypal Voyage Home
The next day it was too rainy to enjoy most of the proximate historical sites, and we had to get home in time to pick up my daughter from daycare. We did stumble upon a local sports museum – teaching my son a cardinal rule of road trips – it isn’t about the destination, it is about what you find on the way.

We spent the morning and afternoon driving home listening to more Harry Potter. I would occasionally stop the story and make a few points.

“When they use the pain curse on Harry Potter, isn’t that just like when the Emperor used the Force lightning on Luke?”

“Isn’t what Dumbledore is telling Harry just like what Obi-Wan told Luke?”

“Daaad, enough about archetypes – can’t we just listen to the story?”

*My son’s school is but another illustration of the maxim, the more expensive the school the more often they close. I understand closing for Jewish holidays – it is a Jewish day school. But they also have a lot of professional days – aka three-day weekends.

Fey Troubles: Must See TV vs. My Marriage

It has been a long time since I’ve needed to hide magazines from the women in my life. But then Vanity Fair put Tina Fey on the cover, but worse - every Thursday night she tests my marriage.

I’ve long been a big fan Tina Fey fan; starting long before the Sarah Palin resemblance propelled her to international prominence. I was enthralled back when she was the SNL news anchor. But what sealed it was when, during an episode of Thirty Rock she was in a video conference, saw herself and said, “My eyes are so far apart, I look like Admiral Akbar.”

A reference to Admiral Akbar, leader from Mon Calamari and commander of the rebel fleet! For a Star Wars obsessed guy -

WOW!
Sigh.
"You had me at Akbar."

This isn’t just liking Star Wars this is true dorkdom (a reference to General Viers would probably make me foam at the mouth).

But here is the thing. I won’t say my wife gets jealous exactly. But…

I mentioned once that I thought Maura Tierney was “talented.” Not “hot,” which my wife generally ignores. “Hot” is just lucky genetics, not a cause of concern to a wife.

Some time later my wife casually mentioned during a Maura Tierney scene on ER, “You can see that she is really heavily made-up. Look at her hands.”

Now, any joy at seeing Ms. Tierney on screen is overshadowed as I visualize hands that look like they belong to Admiral Akbar.

I don’t know what my wife might have on Tina Fey – I don’t want to think about it.

Worse, I might retaliate by criticizing Sportacus (while my wife seems to take an inordinate interest in watching Lazy Town, at least she isn’t writing Sportacus fan fiction.)

It would escalate from there, as my wife ruined Laurie Berkner for me…

I don’t want to see it go this way, so I’ll just keep my latest issue of Vanity Fair hidden. (Under the mattress is no longer viable – and a little creepy – fortunately, my office is a mess.) But at least in this case, when it is inevitably discovered I can legitimately say I had it for the articles – although that might only make things worse.

Star Wars: The Next Generation

This afternoon, home from school because of snow, my son and a buddy watched The Empire Strikes Back, truly the best of the Star Wars movies. I popped in and out to catch my favorite moments. Having seen the movie well over one hundred times, I knew exactly when these moments were.

This is a big deal for him, because I had originally told him that he would see the Star Wars movies at the age I saw them. His birthday present when he turned seven was to see Star Wars (technically A New Hope, but now known as “Number Four”). But I determined that he would have to wait until he was nine to see the sequel. My wife considered this cruel, both because most of his friends have seen the entire series and because I talk about Star Wars constantly.

Apparently, my son was also talking about it a great deal, because his friends started talking about it. For that matter the two-year-old little sisters of my son’s friends began talking about “Darfader” and staging light-saber duels between their dolls. (My son is apparently a natural trendsetter.) So my son’s friends dads let their sons watch the movies so that they wouldn’t feel left out. I don’t think these dads needed much prodding. So my son became the one left out, although we read Star Wars books, re-enacted key scenes, and discussed the historical background of the Star Wars universe ad nauseam.

We did let him watch a video about the making of Star Wars, which inspired him to create one of his terrific games within games. First we would be the production committee, organizing the next scene of the movie. Then we would draw it out with magic markers. Then we would actually re-enact the scene.

When we finally let him watch Star Wars an odd thing happened. He didn’t seem blown away by the adventure (although I couldn’t get a good read because my wife had to keep shushing me when I tried to recite the lines.) But, he already knew a lot of the action. But he burst into laughter at some of the funny parts, like R2-D2 trundling around the desert on Tatooine or some of the moments in the trash compactor. But then I knew another generation was born when, at the very end when the Death Star is destroyed (I hope I’m not ruining it for anyone) he simply said, “Wow!”

Original Star Wars Generation
We were dubbed Generation-X by the Baby Boomers (who frankly could not imagine any generation following them.) But really we were the Skywalker Generation. I believe we have an odd streak of hopefulness because for most of us Star Wars was the biggest, bestest thing we could possibly imagine – and then a few years later Empire Strikes Back came out and was even better. Name another sequel that was better than its predecessor. It made us believe, in something…

For people in my chronological demographic, the original Star Wars is a cultural touchstone. Rather then list the pop culture references to Star Wars allow me to share one small personal anecdote about how Star Wars soaked we are. I live near a Veers Road. Every single time I drive by or pass this road (on average over 20 times a week), I hear Darth Vader’s voice in my head commanding, “General Veers, prepare your men.”

(It was in Empire Strikes Back, and yes I rushed into the den to see the line spoken and recite it this afternoon – much to my son’s annoyance.)

A few years ago, when my brother was visiting, we drove across Veers Road, and my brother turned to me and asked, “Wasn’t Veers the Imperial commander during the battle of Hoth?”

“Yeah,” I replied, “He got to drive an AT-AT, wouldn’t that be cool?”

“Better than a bantha!”

And now, having seen Empire Strikes Back, my son will get that many more of my references:

Son, you can destroy mommy. She has foreseen this. It is your destiny! Join me, and together, we can rule the household as father and son! Come with me. It is the only way.

I'm Back! After a Long House Arrest

One afternoon my wife came home to find the kids wearing my pajamas and whacking each other with whiffleball bats.

"Mommy we're Jedis!" my daughter announced, while wearing my (not fresh) pajama bottoms tied up under her armpits and swinging a green bat at her brother's head.

"Yeah, I'm Qui-Gon Jinn" my son yelled, parrying, while wearing my pajama shirt like a cloak.

"More like Qui-Gon Dork," she muttered, "Now where is your father?"

I was in the kitchen making chocolate chip pancakes with whip cream - for dinner.

She took away my blog...

Brush with Evil

Speaking of baseball, my son asked me if the Yankees are a good team.

"Yes," I told him, "They are one of the all-time great baseball teams."

"Good," he said, "I like the Yankees. They're great."

I sat down and pulled him into my lap. I spoke gently, "As you grow older there are many things we will not agree about. But despite this, I'll still love you. I will love you if you decide you don't like your faith or prefer wine over beer. I will love you if you become a Trotskyite..."

"Like Pop?" my son interrupted.

"Right, like Pop. I will even love you if you decide to use PCs instead of Macs."

"What if I prefer the new Star Wars to the old ones?" he asked.

"Even then, as much as it would pain me," I told him, my voice still gentle.

"But if you become a Yankees fan," I continued, my voice darkening like a sudden summer thunderstorm:

"I will have no son!"

"Dad, I'm just kidding," he laughed, rolling his eyes at me. "I like the Orioles. Can we go to a game?"

"What spend forty bucks to see them, they stink."

Star Wars Spinoffs

Tired of just re-hashing scenes from the Star Wars movies, my son and I developed some spin-offs to play. One games is: No Padawan, about the dumbest apprentice in the Jedi Order. I play the bumbling apprentice, always moving objects inappropriately with the Force, not properly securing my light-sabre (and cutting off my toes), and talking too much. My son plays the wise, but frustrated master who has to admonish me for my failing. When I really mess up (like the time I told the Boba Fett where the Jedi attack team was hiding) he chases me around, sounding like the Skipper yelling, "Padawan" and trying to bonk me on the head with the foam sword we use as a light sabre. If there were national tournaments for Alan Hale impressions my son would definitely win the kindergarten division (and probably the entire elementary school league.)

My son likes this game because of the role reversal. It prepares me for his teenage years when I will, invariably, do everything wrong. When he whines at me, "Daaaad!" I hope he'll use the Alan Hale voice.

The other Star Wars based game we play is Jedi Chef. This is about a Jedi who uses his light sabre to cook things. He can slice and cook a turkey at the same time. Give him a loaf of bread and it will arrive sliced and toasted. (He's working on an attachment to dispense butter.) Also, instant French Fries. You'd think they would make vegetables dry and unpalatable, but at the right setting - veggie crisps!

It's a pretty cool show. We use the Force to throw food in the air, slice it with our light sabres and land it on the plates - which are then telekinetically sent to diners. Unfortunately, we never get past appetizers - the show is always interrupted by a battle droid attack.

Jedi Dreams

My son is obsessed with Star Wars. At four and a half he is far too young to actually watch the movies, but he gazes longingly at the action figures when we go to toy stores, He discusses the characters and their various capabilities. Some days he is Yoda and some days he is Chewbacca. When he carries his little sister's diaper bag (he's a little helper monkey sometimes) he insists on putting the strap across his chest, in his words, "Like an Ewok."

Naturally, he yearns to become a Jedi and wield a light sabre. He talks about getting one when he is "older," say five. (He also thinks that is when he will learn how to drive. He plans to get married when he is six.)

What he doesn't know (and won't learn until he can read, access the Internet and find this blog) is that years ago, before he was born, I bought a plastic toy light sabre at a Woolworths. I never took it out of its package. It is sitting in his closet.