That's No Moon

Sunday I officially became old. I still remember the day I witnessed my own dad's fall from immortality and I think he was the same age I am now. I'm not sure if girls share this phenomenon about their mothers, but with boys it often happens that there is a defining moment in their lives when they slay the father. I say boys, but it may not happen until midlife or ever in some cases.

For most boys, your dad is always bigger, faster, stronger, smarter than you and by the time you reach puberty it appears he always will be. It's not just physical prowess either; non-physical dads can be just as alpha through being revered, successful or powerful. In most cases you aren't even aware you're competing with him. But then one day you have a moment of crystal clarity and you realize the old gazelle has lost a step to the lions.

For me this happened when I was 14. Gym class at the cult school was frequently led by visiting parents and other virile male cult members and on this particular day my dad ran the recreational activities. Flag Football. I was in the slot and my dad was covering me on a simple out route and I picked up a step on him when I made the turn. I made the catch and ten yards before going out. That was it. A first down. But I beat him. Not two days before he had me in an unrecoverable headlock. For years I was wrestled into panic-stricken positions on the living room floor ("Get off!! I can't breathe!" "If you can't breathe, how are you shouting?"), regular footrace challenges left me gasping for air, he could make me kneel down by doing something to my pinkie. I was bested in dinner discussions, he could fix anything, he always knew when I was lying. But on this day, I beat him. I hadn't even known I'd been competing with him for ten years. But I realized it then and it was sweet.

By the way, if you're male and you haven't slain your father yet, I suggest you savor the moment when it happens. It doesn't last long. You immediately become emboldened by your new found chest-beating and begin to challenge him at every turn. Victory gets easier and easier. And before you know it you realize they are hollow victories. He's not fighting you anymore. It's like Obi-Wan turning off his lightsaber once he sees Luke safely aboard the Falcon. His job is done; he's shown you the basics, and yeah, his voice might pop into your head when you need him in a crisis, but it's you v. world now.

So Sunday, I was out in the yard showing SGK how to use a snow shovel for a sled (like the one George Bailey rides into the icy pond). It didn't work very well, so I got a cardboard box and flattened it out. We have just enough slope on the driveway to make it fun for little ones, but she still wasn't clear on the concept. So I did what we poor kids did in the winter, lay a box on the ground, get as much steam up as you can on the slippery surface, and dive head first on the box. It worked great when I was six. Sunday, I hit the ground and I was suddenly aware that I couldn't hear anything. I looked up at SGK and I saw her little cherubic visage begin to be encircled by a ring of bluish white squirmy things like flagellants under a microscope. I was really confused and then, still unable to make out any sounds around me, I heard a very small, clear voice calmly say, "Don't forget to breathe." I rolled over and sucked in as much air as I could get. The little blue things were still wiggling, but quickly fading. Whew, I thought, I'm not dying -- just got my bell wrung. Pretty sure I bruised my sternum and those little knobby things on the breastplate up where your neck starts. I know if I had a son who'd witnessed my buffoonery, that would've been his moments. For now, I assuming little girls don't want to slay their fathers.

Once I got my hearing back the first thing I heard was YHWH bleating, "I don't think that box is big enough! And that hill isn't steep enough, either!" At least she didn't laugh at me. I'll take henpecking over humiliation any day. I quickly picked myself up and carried myself into the house under false bravado. YHWH plaintively apologized as I walked through the garage begging me not to go inside and, closing the door, I heard SGK saying, "You made daddy mad, mom!" I paused to consider refuting the charge that I was going inside to pout but thought, what the hell, better to be thought of as a pouter than a mere mortal.

You Will Never Find a More Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy.

Okay, in fairness to Edna from yesterday's post, I have a confession to make. The other day at Target I lost it, too. Although, in my defense, it was only two restocking red-shirters who heard me and not a line of ravenous nine-to-fivers.

After only one viewing, SGK lost the Episode VI: The Return of the Jedi DVD from our boxed set. You remember the boxed DVD set that came out a while back? The one that was marketed with the slogan 'available for a limited time only'. And the retail rumor-mill said Lucas was going to take a page from Disney and make the old Star Wars DVDs only available off and on for short periods and you may not have another crack at them for a decade. So I bought them. I bought them with the full knowledge that the movie distributing bast*rds knew they were lying. This I know because they said the same thing when the VHS came out in the mid-1990s to the tune of $200 or so, right before they rereleased all them movies in the theater and reissued the VHS for about half the price.

So, yes, I bought the boxed set of DVDs even though I was extremely annoyed that Lucas only released the stupid doctored-up versions and acted like Episode IV: A New Hope was the same movie I sat through 43 times in the summer of '77. It clearly was not. And don't start in with "It's his movie, he can do what he wants with it." Well, around my family's vicious card table, "A card laid is a card played." DaVinci didn't go back and put sunglasses on Mona Lisa. I don't care if he makes Episode IV: A New Hope so long as I can watch Star Wars any time I want without all of the silly muppets cgi'ed into it. And you had to buy the boxed set because another maxim at the time was that they would only ever be available as a set. And only in the Digitally Remastered version.

So, of course, I was miffed when SGK lost our Jedi. And then last weekend I saw an ad which explained that Eps IV, V, and VI would be available separately for a limited time. I mean what is it with these people? And you know I was there the next morning at Target to complete my set because, gd it, it's only available for a limited time! I got there about the time they were opening and the sleepy stock clerks were overstuffing the shelves for a big Saturday. I whisked my lighter, suit-capable self over to the electronics section and quickly located the Jedis. My approach took me between two unenthused stockers and I quickly extracted my copy, looked it over to make sure I got VI, not IV and then I saw it. The Sticker. There was a prism-backed sticker which gleefully beamed back to me the words "Includes original theatrical release!" I wasn't as bad as Edna but I said very loudly, "What?! They said they weren't going to do this! Why did they do this?!" Because now I have to buy IV, too! I turned in the direction of one of the clerks. She didn't look like she was alive in '77. I turned to the other one and began to plead for...something. And she was like a cop. She actually reached near her hip for her walkie-talkie. I just stopped short and smiled and she smiled back. I tucked it under and as I walked away I threw over my shoulder, "You shouldn't mess with Star Wars."