My brother quoted some comedian, whose name escapes me. The gist is that boys think exclusively of the following:
3-6: Candy and Robots
I’m here to tell you that it’s gospel truth. The only difference is that the ninjas they favor use The Force.
We introduced Star Wars in September of this year. It has progressed from an enjoyable activity to a complete obsession. The walls of their rooms are plastered with drawings of X-wing fighters, landspeeders, and Han Solo. They pour over technical guides of the Star Wars universe, and beg to watch Lego Star Wars videos. My oldest is presently writing out a book, detailing the moment-by-moment plot of each of the three films (we pretend the first three do not exist).
Oh, yes. Star Wars Legos. Little bits of plastic which are apparently made of gold and the essence of Gelfling. Expensive little suckers, and worthy of hours of discussion, hoarding and silent (or not so silent) yearning.
It’s a nerdy, wonderful little stage. Unencumbered by the need to kiss girls or harness social capital, the boys can escape into this exciting world, where good overpowers evil, and the scariest thing in the world turns out to be a broken bald man who loves his son.
I imagine it is comforting for them to have something so easy in their lives right now. They are keeping their heads above water in school, and they are learning more Spanish every day. They order food in restaurants with ease, and walk the streets of our pueblo uncowed.
But it’s a confusing place. Adults talk to them, and they do not always understand. There’s a lot of guesswork, bluffing, and minor mishaps.
It’s hard. Harder than anything I ever did in school.
And as one of the few cootie-free women in their lives, I do my best to remember that from 0-3, I was their world, and I had the answers. Now, Luke, Leia, and even Lando have a few answers of their own.
Just as I study my Spanish, I study my Star Wars.
Not because I care—far from it—but because they do.