Faster Than the World

1997. The Star Wars trilogy has been re-released in theaters. I was totally geeking out and my kids caught my enthusiasm. Sure, you may read that as “shoved my love of Star Wars down their throat,” but I swear they loved it all as much as I did. Especially my son. He was four at the time and a bit of an obsessive little kid and he developed a Star Wars fixation that put mine to shame.

For his birthday that year, he got a whole batch of Star Wars toys, including this humongous replica of the Millennium Falcon, complete with flashing lights and sound effects. He played with this thing night and day. Obsessed. He’d take all the figures from his other toy sets - knights and pirates and cowboys - and have them board the Millennium Falcon. Then he would have Han Solo boss them around. Or Chewie eat them. Or...well, I’m not sure what he was doing with Leia. But hey, he was having fun.

So one day I go in his bedroom to see what he’s up to. Something’s not right. A strange smell. What the hell is that? I can't put my finger on what it is. I look for rotten food or moldy orange juice or or small, dead animals. Finally, I figure out where the smell is coming from. Over there. By the toys. I sniff, wrinkle my nose, hone in on the exact location.

The Millennium Falcon. It reeks like....something. I peer into it. A small flood has invaded its interior. Han Solo and Pocahantas are floating together in a stream of.....of....what the hell is that? Piss?? Is that piss? Did he pee in the Millennium Falcon?!!? I lean a little closer. Holy shit. He did. He took a leak right on Chewie, Han and some Disney figures. I stared. Contemplated. Counted to ten. Stifled the urge to laugh. Is this funny or horrible? Should I get out the camera or start screaming? I went ballistic. I don’t even know what I said to him. This four year old kid looking at me all innocent like, as if he didn’t do a damn thing wrong. With this “hey, I had to pee and it was there” look on his face.

He was smiling. The little shit. He was almost laughing. Apparently he wanted a reaction. And he got it. His lunatic mother was standing there screaming to him about pissing in appropriate places. Honestly, I wanted to strangle him, more for being amused by me than for peeing in a Star Wars toy. I didn't really know what else to say at the point. So I pointed my finger at him. Got right in his face. And I said in a very low, meant to be scary voice: "You do not pee in the Millennium Falcon!" Again. Emphasis. “Do. Not. Pee. In. The. Millennium. Falcon.”

He stared at me, all serious like. Nodded his head. I think that sunk in. I made him take the Falcon outside. Ok kid. You want to pee in your toys? You want to laugh when I get mad at that? Hose this down. And when you’re done, toss it. That’s right, in the garbage can. He started crying. I wanted a reaction. I got one. Two can play this game. Yea, I’m a big baby. I know. But really. He peed in the Millennium Falcon. I tried to explain to him why I was so mad. He ruined something that was really cool. He took a gift someone gave him and ruined it. No bueno, kid. It’s the whole “looking a gift horse in the mouth” thing, but I didn’t feel like getting into Trojan horses and all. In the end, I think he understood why I was pissed. No pun intended.

So a couple of days later, we are at Chucky Cheeses killing time. They have one of those big, winding tunnels that the kids can crawl through and torment each other. It's about 8 feet above the rest of the play area and kids have been known to crawl up in there and hid when it’s time to leave. So I read my son the riot act before he goes in the tunnels. Coming here is a privilege, I explain. When I say it's time to go, we go. You blow it, we don’t come back. I hate this hellhole, so don’t take advantage of my kindness in bringing you here. He gives me that look: Ok, I got it, I got it, I just want to play. I let him go.

An hour later it's time to go. I look up into the tunnel and give the boy the “let’s get the fuck out of this place before I kill that giant, singing mouse” sign. He looks down at me and sticks his tongue out. Fucker. I go to the end of the tube and yell at him. He laughs. I tell him he’s taking advantage of me. He laughs. I’m not getting through to him. I need to think quick before that mouse starts singing again and I lose my mind. Ok, I got it. I lean my head into the tube and yell, loud enough for it to echo through the tunnels: "Do not pee in the Millennium Falcon!" Heads turn, the place goes quiet. Everyone is staring. Two seconds later, my son is down the slide and in his coat.

Everyone there thought I was insane. But he knew what I meant.

Do not pee in the Millennium Falcon. My golden rule.