This year for Halloween, my child will be Yoda. The process began in July, with consideration of several possibilities. Call it the Costume Primaries. The Red Power Ranger was a contender. So was Pikachu, the little yellow Pokemon cat-thing that shoots electricity from the bright red spots on its cheeks. Batman was a flash in the pan. Various animals were considered, then abandoned.
The winner? Yoda. When told he was all-powerful, more powerful even than Obi Wan Kenobi, my son glommed onto the wrinkly little green guy and carefully added his own touches to the store bought costume: a gimmer stick. A light sabre. (“Mama, why does Yoda walk funny with the stick but when he fights, he doesn’t need the stick?”) He practiced jedi knight moves with his light sabre.
Yoda speaks to something deeply felt in my son. I got a glimpse of it the other day, when he said, “Mama, I wish I could be Yoda. I’d live with you and Daddy and keep all the bad robbers away.”
And, completely unprompted by me: “Mama, is Obama like the Jedi knights, and McCain like the Sith lords?”
What could I say but “yes,” and “‘Only a Sith deals in absolutes’”?