Recently I was faced with a moral dilemma presented to me by my oldest daughter, and never
before that moment had I considered Star Wars would be the cause of such painful introspection. I'm a stay at home dad, Mr. Mom, and have found the constant noises of Star
Trek keep me from going insane while caring for my four month old daughter. (Yes, it has taken me four months to watch all those hours of Gene Roddenberry's gift to the world.) I was asked by my oldest, as our Star Trek marathon was wrapping up, as to which series was next on the list. So in answer to her question: "I don't know." There are so many television and movie series that would be fun to jump into.
She asked if Star Wars was next, knowing I've been a fan since the original move was released when I was the tender age of (I don't want to do this! I don't want to age myself!) three. In my opinion, there are only three movies, and, after Star Trek, watching three movies cannot be considered a marathon. It's more like light viewing. All I had accomplished opening myself up to the next question (seems the "whys?" never end with children, but only become more sophisticated.) "Will you ever let her (my youngest) watch the new Star Wars movies?" Well that is a great question since I have not recognized anything coming from Lucasfilm as authentic Star Wars if it was produced after 1983.
This attitude is not simply a purist reaction, but more of one designed to avoid crap. So what to tell my youngest when she comes of age? Do I tell her there are only three movies because George Lucas died, became bankrupt, or found Jesus before completing the saga? Or do I tell her more Star Wars exists, but it's fan produced garbage, unofficial, and therefore unworthy of her time? She will eventually learn how to use a computer, making IMDB only a few keystrokes away. The truth will be known, but not to set me free. My youngest will expose me for a liar.
The logical decision, if I hope to avoid her ire, is to come clean by admitting there are more Star Wars films. The only problem with honesty as the best policy is I'll eventually be forced to endure the latest installments of Star Wars once more. We have a small house, so avoiding the living room television is not an option. I'll still hear a nine-year-old boy bare the shame of being called by a girl's name, Ani. (No wonder he turned to the dark side.) I'll be forced to suffer through Jar Jar Bink's tongue flicking antics. I'll be laid low by migraines as girlie Ani cries, "It just isn't fair!" Boo-hoo! Episode III is no better. I'm not terribly interested in hearing lines such as "Ani, you're breaking my heart."
What to do? Lie my ass off! Parents do it all the time with Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and masturbation. The lie will not damage my youngest daughter, nor will it have a lasting impact on our relationship. After all, when was the last time you heard of a child committing patricide because said kid learned Santa Clause is a phony? I'll take my chances.
In this house, anything Star Wars after 1983 does not exist.
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J. M. Tresaugue Books
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before that moment had I considered Star Wars would be the cause of such painful introspection. I'm a stay at home dad, Mr. Mom, and have found the constant noises of Star
Trek keep me from going insane while caring for my four month old daughter. (Yes, it has taken me four months to watch all those hours of Gene Roddenberry's gift to the world.) I was asked by my oldest, as our Star Trek marathon was wrapping up, as to which series was next on the list. So in answer to her question: "I don't know." There are so many television and movie series that would be fun to jump into.
She asked if Star Wars was next, knowing I've been a fan since the original move was released when I was the tender age of (I don't want to do this! I don't want to age myself!) three. In my opinion, there are only three movies, and, after Star Trek, watching three movies cannot be considered a marathon. It's more like light viewing. All I had accomplished opening myself up to the next question (seems the "whys?" never end with children, but only become more sophisticated.) "Will you ever let her (my youngest) watch the new Star Wars movies?" Well that is a great question since I have not recognized anything coming from Lucasfilm as authentic Star Wars if it was produced after 1983.
This attitude is not simply a purist reaction, but more of one designed to avoid crap. So what to tell my youngest when she comes of age? Do I tell her there are only three movies because George Lucas died, became bankrupt, or found Jesus before completing the saga? Or do I tell her more Star Wars exists, but it's fan produced garbage, unofficial, and therefore unworthy of her time? She will eventually learn how to use a computer, making IMDB only a few keystrokes away. The truth will be known, but not to set me free. My youngest will expose me for a liar.
The logical decision, if I hope to avoid her ire, is to come clean by admitting there are more Star Wars films. The only problem with honesty as the best policy is I'll eventually be forced to endure the latest installments of Star Wars once more. We have a small house, so avoiding the living room television is not an option. I'll still hear a nine-year-old boy bare the shame of being called by a girl's name, Ani. (No wonder he turned to the dark side.) I'll be forced to suffer through Jar Jar Bink's tongue flicking antics. I'll be laid low by migraines as girlie Ani cries, "It just isn't fair!" Boo-hoo! Episode III is no better. I'm not terribly interested in hearing lines such as "Ani, you're breaking my heart."
What to do? Lie my ass off! Parents do it all the time with Santa Clause, the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy, and masturbation. The lie will not damage my youngest daughter, nor will it have a lasting impact on our relationship. After all, when was the last time you heard of a child committing patricide because said kid learned Santa Clause is a phony? I'll take my chances.
In this house, anything Star Wars after 1983 does not exist.
Links:
J. M. Tresaugue Books
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