On Star Wars

We were having a conversation last night. You know, one of those deep ones where things just spill out because you just watched the series finale of Girls and it spoke levels to you so you need to cry on your husband’s shoulder. The kind of conversation that requires listening and no problem solving. That kind.

Jake said something poignant, through tears, about how he feels that the only thing okay about dying is that he knows the girls will be fine because they have me.

I followed that up with stating that he doesn’t get off that easy and the girls still need him. If it weren’t for him, they’d never ride a single roller coaster until they were 20.

After a good laugh to break the seriousness of the topic, Jake then said that yes, he needs to be here so he can teach the girls about Star Wars.

I can not roll my eyes far enough back into my head.

There are fewer things in this world that I do not like as much as I despise Star Wars. It is not out of resentment. It is not out of jealousy. It is not based off of the narrow mindedness I once based my hatred of it in the past. It is just plain and simply silly to me.

I like fictional stories. I once enjoyed Star Trek. I can get into Battlestar Galactica. Science fiction may not be my favorite genre, but it is not beyond me.

Over the years I’ve been indoctrinated into Star Wars stories through watching the movies, reading books to the girls and listening to Jake drone on and on about the plots of the movies as he nervously awaits results in a doctor’s office.

It is just silly to me. Silly silly silly.

Regardless of what I feel, Jake loves Star Wars and who am I to keep a father’s passion from his children? And lord knows Star Wars teaches far better morals than the standard princess/Barbie garbage out there.

This was the girls at breakfast this morning. No, it wasn’t staged.

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