Revenge of the Jedi

Parts of my childhood were completed consumed by all things Star Wars. I watched the movies over and over again. Memorized dialogue. My brother and I used to fall asleep every night with The Empire Strikes Back playing on a record player in the hallway between our bedrooms. We had all kinds of action figures, ships, toys, and play sets. Return of the Jedi trading cards. Yoda t-shirts. I'd lead Andy and Jenny in Jedi Training just about every day during the summer.

All of this, I'm sure, drove our parents nuts. My grandmother recalls taking Andy and me to see one of the Star Wars movies. While we were standing in line for a movie that Mimi had absolutely no desire to see, one of us commented that this would be the 10th time we'd seen the movie in the theater. She wanted to get in the car and go home right then and there.

And now, the tables have turned. Jack is a full-blown Star Wars maniac. He wants to watch the movies constantly. Play lightsaber "battle-fight." Pretend to be Luke escaping from the Wampa, and I play the roles first of Ghost Obi-Wan, then of Han (including slicing open imaginary tauntaun with his lightsaber). The only books he wants to read are the storybook versions of the movie.

He is amassing an impresive collection of Star Wars toys, and will quickly rattle off the ones that he wants to go look for right now: Boba Fett, the cricket (aka Salacious Crumb), Jabba's best friend (aka Bib Fortuna), the wampa, and so on.

He is, in short, absolutely crazy.

Steve was the exact same way when he was a kid. It could not be more obviousl that we got the correct baby at the hospital.