Today I am a proud Jedi Papa. (Warning: Contains Star Wars and not DDO)

I have a dim memory of when I was a kid meeting another kid. His name was Luke, just like Luke Skywalker. And I thought, gee that would be cool if one day I had a son and I named my son Luke because then I could say stuff like "Luke, *I* am your fatha!"

Well I do have kids now. None of them is named Luke or any starwarzy name, but doing the accent is fun. Especialy when they're playing Lego Starwars.

Son: Papa! I can't make the Legos work!
Me: Use the force!
Son: Help me!
Me: No. That is the "Jump button." "The force" is the red "B" button. Use the force!
Son: I'm pushing it! But it's not staying!
Me: Use the force by pressing AND HOLDING IT. Feel the force *flow*!
Son: I'm trying!
Me: Do or do not. There is no "try."
Son: It worked! Thank you Papa!
Me: Congradulations! You've taken your first step into a much larger world.
Son: (kung-fu sound effects)

He's still a padawan-knucklehead or whatever. But my oldest is six years old now and she's got that "control" thing that Yoda is always talking about. She's an elegant Jedi of a more civilized age, not so clumsy or random as her little brother.

Today at church we celebrated Epiphany, the so-called twelfth day of Christmas. On this holy day, the three kings (aka three wise men) followed the star to Bethlehem to give praise to our Lord Jesus Christ. In celebration we re-enacted the story. Sang songs, feasted on hotdogs and chips and finaly, beat a star shaped pinata with a club until candy fell out.

As is our tradition, we lined up all the kids from shortest to tallest. The first kids are the tinyest, and often need help to raise the bat high enough to even touch the streamers of the star. Then the pre-schoolers and little first graders step up and take their swings. Sometimes they hit it hard enough to rip off a streamer, sometimes they hit accurately enough to hit the body of the Pinata itself. And then the firstgraders step up, they swing one handed for the most part, but it's obvious who has played baseball because they swing for the bleachers, and often hit the pinata's arms with enough force to spin it, or even break the arms off entirely.

My daughter was among the last firstgraders. She stepped up and I watched excitedly to see if she remembered her training. Sure enough, she grabbed the stick as a Katana, and delivered a powerful overhead strike. Not perfect, but she had the timing and aim to hit the candy filled body and not the arms. The blow sounded a loud crunch, but her stick rebounded without having cut through the dense pinata body. But the force of her blow opened a great rip in the far side of the pinata, a horizontal gash that opened like an ear-to-ear smile. Then the weight of the candy took over and the whole bottom hemisphere collapsed and dangled by a thread.

The Pinata handler gave the rope a few good tugs and the children, Ewok-liked, rushed in to gather the candy that my daughter cut out of the Pinata. My daughter.