“How does Darth Vader die?”

“Are Anakin and Obi-Wan brothers?”

These are the questions Calfgrit7 asks me about Star Wars. I’ve been planning to sit down with CG7 to watch the Star Wars movies when he’s old enough — I was 10 when I saw A New Hope — but his interest in Star Wars is growing faster than his age.

I have the original VHS versions of the first three movies (Eps. IV, V, VI). They were given to me as a Christmas gift back in the 90s, before there was even any talk about the special editions or prequels.

I was hoping for him to experience the magic and surprises of Star Wars with me, but with all the Star Wars paraphernalia in the world, he’s learning so much about it without ever even seeing the movie package. He has asked many questions about the different characters, and some things I’ve had to refuse to tell him — like Darth Vader is Luke’s father, Anakin Skywalker becomes Darth Vader, etc. I haven’t told him why I don’t want to tell him.

Then the other day he brought home a book he checked out from the library at school: The Secrets of Darth Vader. “Ha, Dad, I’m going to know how Darth Vader dies,” he said. Damn.

Well, I talked to Cowgrit about this — she’s known I want to watch the movies with CG7 — and we’re going to make time this weekend. She’ll take Calfgrit4 off somewhere for a couple of hours, and CG7 and I will sit and watch at least A New Hope. I’d like to watch it on Saturday, and then watch The Empire Strikes Back on Sunday, and then squeeze in Return of the Jedi Monday evening, but we don’t know if we can work in six hours like that.

If I’m going to do this, I have to do it now, or he’ll learn too much before seeing the movies. The hard part is doing it behind CG4’s back, and keeping it all a secret from him. CG7 will want to talk about having seen the movies, and CG4 will be upset if he knows he’s missed something like that (but 4 years old is too young for a PG movie).

Now if I can just “misplace” his The Secrets of Darth Vader book for a few days.

Bullgrit

My old workplace had a gym in the basement. I’d go down at least once a day, often twice a day, to walk on the treadmill or do calisthenics or lift some weights. It wasn’t heavy workouts, but it was good for me, and it was regular exercise. My new workplace has no such convenience.

But I discovered that the building, being new, is not fully finished, yet. The third floor (out of 6) is completely open. The center of the level is walled — inside the walls are the stairwell, the elevators, and the restrooms — but everything else is empty. The walls are unpainted, the floor is uncarpeted, and there’s nothing blocking the views through all the windows.

It’s a great indoor “track” for walking. So I’ve visited that floor three or four times since I discovered it early last week. I walk for around ten minutes to get the blood flowing, and then go back to my office.

Yesterday, in mid walk, I had to use the restroom. I went in the room on that floor and did my quick business. (The restrooms are fully complete.) When I came out of the restroom, I saw a man in a suit standing on the floor looking out the window. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw other folks in suits walking slowly. It was rather obvious that they were looking the place over to consider it for their offices.

After the two seconds it took me to take all this in, I decided to just walk away as quickly — without looking rushed — as I could. I walked in the opposite direction, turned the corner where the elevators are located, and went around the wall to the stairwell.

I had my telephone headset in my ears, playing music, so if anyone said anything, I couldn’t hear it. I went into the stairwell and hustled up the stairs back to my office.

Afterward, the absurdity of it struck me. Here’s a 41 year old professional man coming out of a restroom on a vacant building floor, and he hustles away like a teenager caught trespassing on Old Man Johnson’s land.

I’d love to know what the suits thought when they saw some guy walking away from the restroom and disappear around the corner. And I really hope no one moves onto that floor soon — I don’t want to loose my walking track.

Bullgrit

I took Calfgrit7 to the state capital building yesterday with his Cub Scout den. Something I’m always proud with Calfgrit7 about is that on these kinds of tours (at the capital building, at the carnivore preserve, etc.) he is polite, pays attention, and asks legitimate and thoughtful questions.

Some boys just don’t pay attention, and show no desire to learn anything. Calfgrit7 likes learning. Sometimes he says he doesn’t, and sometimes he says he doesn’t want to go on the trip/tour, but when he’s actually at the event or on the tour, he listens, learns, and asks questions.

I’ve told Calfgrit7 (yesterday and before) how proud and happy I am that he behaves, listens, and asks good questions. I dearly hope his love of learning continues throughout his life.

At the end of our tour of the capital building, all the boys had questions. They raised their hands and the tour guide called on them each in turn. One boy wanted so bad to ask a question, but he couldn’t think of one. He raised his hand, and when he was called on:

“Why. . . uh . . . why . . . um . . . why . . . oh . . . why . . .” on and on.

The tour guide interrupted him, “How about I let you get your thoughts together for a moment while someone else asks a question.” She called on another Cub Scout.

“Oh oh oh, I know now! I know what I want to ask!” the boy shouted before the other boy could ask anything. So the tour guide went back to the first boy.

“Why . . . um . . . why . . . uh . . . why . . . oh . . . why . . .”

We dads and moms standing with the group started looking back and forth at each other, trying not to laugh. The boy’s mother was outside the building with her younger child (who wasn’t old enough to have patience for such a tour). Finally, after probably 50 “why’s” (no exaggeration, here), the den leader dad stepped in and said, politely and nicely, “That’s enough questions for now.”

The kid never did get a question out, but the tour guide was able to move on — I’m sure much to her relief.

Bullgrit

The boys and I stopped by the local mall yesterday. We walked into the mall at the food court, and as we made our way through to the central hub, I noticed they already had some Christmas decorations up. Geez, I thought, it’s barely into November.

It seems like it only recently started, in the past few years, with stores and malls setting up things for Christmas before Thanksgiving. I noticed Target had a Christmas section (two aisles) even before Halloween. This is wrong. This should not be happening. Christmas should not start until after Thanksgiving.

Anyway, as we walked into the central hub of the mall, we walked smack into the Santa Claus area. Santa was there, next to the big tree. The thought had not even crossed my mind that Santa might already be in the mall. Had I thought we might run into the big guy, I would have mentioned it to my boys. I might even have come into the mall at the store we needed rather than walk through the main area.

Calgrit7 said, “I don’t think he’s the real Santa.” Calfgrit4 didn’t pay the red suit any mind at all. There was not the usual long line of kids and parents waiting to meet him. There was not the feeling of the holiday in the air. (The temperature outside was in the 70s!)

For my boys, seeing Santa like this felt so fake and unreal. It felt more like seeing someone in a late Halloween costume than seeing the real jolly old elf.

For me, it felt like an ambush. Bumping into Saint Nick three weeks before you’d normally expect him just isn’t helpful for parents. We want seeing Santa to be a special, magical moment. We want to warn the boys that we’ll see him — from afar at first, and then we’ll get closer if they want.

Now, though I feel like the moment was mildly ruined. This kind of thing does not endear me to the mall, at all. It’s actually annoying. It makes me not want to go back to the mall until after Thanksgiving — when Christmas is really supposed to start. I definitely won’t take the boys back until December.

Bullgrit