This month has been incredibly long. Picture the first time we see a super star destroyer in Star Wars and the ship just glides over the camera to that John Williams score and it keeps going, and going, and going. Well, this month has felt longer than that. See, it all started after Mother’s Day when I received an email from a placement coordinator telling us that she has been unable to make contact with me over the phone about a potential child-in-care. Turns out the scam blocker on my phone had been making it impossible for this specific coordinator to get through, so she decided to follow up via email. Frankly, I’m so glad that she did because I called her right back and learned about a 10-year-old boy (who I’ll reference as Bear) who is looking for a forever home. It took another eight days before I was contacted by Bear’s caseworker and then another week before we received approval from the placement committee to potentially be Bear’s foster parents. It has now been 29 days since we first learned of Bear and we are waiting on approval from the adoption committee to finally move Bear into our home, but tomorrow will be the first time we get to meet him in person, and we can’t wait. Of course, the details of Bear’s life are his to share and I wish to be extremely sensitive to his trauma, but I can say that Bear’s case is different from anything we expected. First and foremost, we were unsure if we would be the right fit for a child who is already 10 years old. However, we quickly got over that shock and decided if not us, then who? We haven’t met Bear and already we feel like he will be a wonderful addition to our family. The other thing about Bear’s case that surprised us is that reunification is off the table. This means that if the adoption committee approves us, then we will be going straight to foster-to-adopt (in a six-month window) rather than foster-to-reunify. This means that our decision to be Bear’s guardians is even more vital because it will be forever, not just temporary. But that’s all I can say about Bear’s case for now, though there will obviously be more about Bear in the months to come, if all goes well. Aside from our excitement and impatience with the placement process, this month has also been one long series of mental breakdowns, starting with health issues, continuing with returning to work in an office after 444 days of quarantine, and finally with my own emotional issues regarding Pride Month and the LGBTQ community. Since this blog is all about foster care, there will certainly be plenty of my parenting journey in the months ahead. But because this blog is also about Star Wars, I can’t help but entertain the idea to write a prequel, or origin story, out of order. Sure, I could have done that at chapter one, but six months into our journey just before we get the final word on becoming parents to a 10-year-old boy seems like a suitable place to me. God. Parents of a 10-year-old. Me? Ten years ago, I wasn’t even in high school. I was 13 on the day that Bear was born. I was homeschooled, just discovering my sexuality, and probably just as overweight and emotional as I am today. All that time I spent growing up into adulthood, the last 10 years, Bear was being moved around from home to home probably feeling just as unsure about life as me. Now, for some reason, the universe has put us together on the same path. Five years ago, I don’t think I even knew I wanted to be a foster parent. I met my husband five years ago and married him a year later. I know in 2017 adoption was on my mind because my spouse and I attended an information session with Utah Foster Care. Back then, we figured this was something we’d decide to look into when we turned 30. I was only 20 at the time, definitely too young to be a parent. Now I’m 24, and still probably too young to be a parent. But over those three years (2017 to 2020) the idea of being a parent stuck with me. But I kept telling myself, “you can’t be a parent if you haven’t figured yourself out yet.” I also worried that my need for parenthood was just a way to fulfill my craving for unconditional love, which is more of bio-parent thing, if you ask me. With foster care, we already expect the children to despise us. Anyone who decides to foster in hopes that it will satisfy their need for love is fooling themselves. Then when the COVID-19 pandemic happened, I realized that putting off the call to help children in need, wasn’t because I wasn’t ready to be a parent, nobody is ready. It was because I didn’t think I was worthy of being a parent, and I still hadn’t come to terms with loving myself the way that I had hoped I had. Being in lockdown gave me a lot of time by myself to think about this and work out my problems. Halfway through the summer of 2020 I decided that I had extra love to give, and my spouse and I could carve out a place to give a child a more stable life and a peek at what a loving family looks like. So, we started the process. But why us? Why two queer men? Well, that’s something I’ve been asking myself a lot lately, especially this month as June marks Pride Month once again. As I’ve said before, I was raised by wonderful, loving parents. I’ve also said that I was raised by flawed, parents who passed down generational trauma. I could try to make this part of my story interesting, maybe insert a couple Star Wars references for continuity, but honestly looking back, I just feel broken. Yet, being in such a good place as I am right now, I also know I’m more whole than ever. That’s the power of a loving home, and if we can give that to Bear, I hope he will give us that chance. Of course, I never saw myself as a dad. I still think I’m coming to terms with the idea of it. When I was 17, my girlfriend at the time falsely proclaimed that she was pregnant with my baby. Despite that eventually being revealed to be a lie, I stopped pursuing women shortly after that. As I’m writing this, I still think of myself as bisexual, so I could have a child the old-fashioned way if I wanted, but I’m married to a man so that option has been taken off the table. It speaks volumes about my relationship though, doesn’t it? I went from not wanting to be a dad, to pursuing the idea, and eventually adopting just because the man who walked into my life made the insane seem obtainable. I’m sure this isn’t the last time I’ll talk about LGBTQ issues or my upbringing on this blog, but the closer we get to parenthood becoming a reality, the more it feels like this new normal isn’t something I need to be scared of. However, ask me again in three years when I’m 27 navigating a teenager and my own health insurance. May the force be with me. -Erick L. Graham Wood [email protected]
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Attempting to come up with a topic that expertly combines my love of Star Wars and excitement for foster care has never been easier than it was this month. Sure, it has been four months since we became licensed foster parents and we are still waiting for word on a placement, but that doesn’t mean we don’t have a few things to celebrate. For example, May is National Foster Care Month and that means I’ve been spending extra time trying to share some of the reasons that I decided to foster and help others find information on how they can help out too. I was also privileged enough to take part in the First Lady of Utah’s (Abby Cox) Show Up initiative that helped to celebrate foster families. Amid all of that, I also had a blast celebrating Star Wars Day on May the Fourth this year and was even able to attend a nerdy exhibit at the Urban Arts Gallery in Salt Lake City. My husband and I also celebrated five years together with some frozen yogurt. The only thing that could make this month better would be if we got a call in May about a placement, effectively cementing these celebrations together forever. But while I wait for that phone call, there was another celebration this past weekend that I thought was pertinent to talk about, and that’s Mother’s Day. My husband and I had a lovely weekend celebrating the women in our life, first at my hometown in Idaho and then at his in Wyoming. By the time we got back home to Utah I was practically buzzing from the exhaustion, wonderful food, and hours of driving that kept us going for three days straight. I know I’ve used this imagery before, but that scene on Endor with the Ewoks at the end of “Return of the Jedi” had nothing on the laughs and good times we spent with our own families. And Star Wars is full of strong mother figures, from Padme to Leia, Shmee Sywalker, and even Lyra Erso who gave her life to keep her daughter safe. I think Star Wars was the first place that I witnessed strong women on screen, so I owe it to the franchise for instilling in me a feminist attitude. But what does this have to do with foster care? Well, I think the stigma around fostering doesn’t account for all the good mothers out there who work through their problems in the system. As well as the mothers who step up and take charge of someone else’s children while the child’s biological parents heal and make amends. So, shout out to all the foster moms and bio moms, the temporary homes and the forever homes, that open their hearts to make a child’s world a little safer. While I’m at it, I need to thank my own mom and my mother-in-law for how far they’ve each come in their journey towards unconditional love. My mother-in-law has been dealing with the grief of losing her husband this past month and I have felt honored to be able to be around her home during this difficult time. Meanwhile, my own mother (And the rest of my family) has been spending as much time as possible with my grandmother, whose health has been declining over the last year. Seeing these wonderful ladies masterfully navigate through such delicate situations has given me a new level of respect for all that they do, especially now as dealing with grieving parents will become a big part of my life no matter the age or gender of our first placement. As I’m writing this, the day after Mother’s Day, I have to recount something that happened yesterday. See, my husband has a family of similar size to my own, but we grew up in very different households. As my husband and I were leaving, his mother gave us each a hug. His sister-in-law also gave us each a hug. Then, his brother gave us each a hug, too. Many people in my husband’s family are two-armed huggers. My family is not. When I hug people, it’s usually just with one arm. I even have a hard time being affectionate with my own husband, yet there have been numerous occasions where I’m able to be intimate with complete strangers. The hugs from the women didn’t faze me. But yesterday I realized how weird it was to be touched lovingly by a straight man. I don’t have male friends or role models and most of my encounters with men have been sexual or toxic. No in-between, sometimes both. But my brother-in-law hugging me, despite the years of me feeling like I would never be invited to be a part of their world, showed me the miles that I’ve traveled to get to this point in time, as well as the other universes I’ve missed out on where this type of connection could be normalized. Being hugged by strangers makes you feel like a porglet snuggled by its porg parents. It’s simply heart-warming. (See the picture at the top of this post for an example.) Then it dawned on me, the men in this household, like my husband, were raised by a kind and caring mother that taught them to normalize affection. Their ability to be in tune with their emotions is like a jedi mind trick in this patriarchal world. If this family who is so different from me can cross barriers to celebrate together, then so can I with the bio parents of my future child. Being gay, Mother’s Day has become increasingly distant to me. I guess I don’t know if Father’s Day is going to have twice the amount of celebration of if my husband and I will just split the days, but I do know that the women in my life have helped me become the man I am today. I hope I can repay the favor for another child soon. -Erick L. Graham Wood [email protected] Multiple years ago, I had the privilege to sit in the Vivint Smart Home Arena in Salt Lake City while Mark Hamill spoke to a large audience of convention attendees. For those who are unfamiliar with Hamill’s work, he is best known for playing the role of “whiny farm boy” in George Lucas’ 1977 indie film, “Star Wars.”
Hamill told the audience that the central theme of the Star Wars saga, at least for him while playing Luke Skywalker, is “growing up.” He explained that his performance was motivated by the idea that Luke would need a starting point in his journey, something that would leave the character room to grow as his arc progressed. So, the first time we see Hamill’s character, he is a naive teenager, dreaming of bigger things and living with his aunt and uncle. Soon Luke is faced with accepting the hero’s journey and ultimately forced to mature as a person. In the real world, I wonder how often we actually leave ourselves room to grow. I think we often get fitted with a “one size fits all” armor that we carry around regardless of if it’s too tight and unable to accommodate a growth spurt. For example, when I was in the fifth grade, I was asked to sing in a choir that was made up of students from all over the state. The songs were complex arrangements and only three students from my school were invited to participate. I practiced multiple times a week after school for months in preparation for the big concert that would take place on a Friday night with a live symphony and a big auditorium. (A real Yub Nub celebration if you can picture it.) I was excited and scared, but at the same time it felt like my pre-pubescent voice was destined for greatness. During that year, my fifth-grade teacher was the only male teacher in the entire school. He was exactly what you would expect a man named Collin to be like, or at least exactly what I expect someone with that name to be like. On casual Fridays he wore shorts and a jersey to class. He had a basketball hoop in his classroom and had everyone take turns making shots (to my horror). Sometimes he wore glasses and a clean-shaven face (a real Clark Kent vibe) and other days he had a beard (kind of a chubby Chris Pratt persona, before that was a thing). He was funny, which I adored, but he was also manly, which terrified me. My classmates planned to invite our teacher to the concert but the last thing I wanted was for him to find out that I did something I considered “feminine” like sing in the school choir. Somehow, I convinced them not to tell him and it was smooth sailing, at least until he called me out on it Monday morning and told me that he was disappointed he had missed the performance. This is just one example of a time I tried to squeeze into a “one size fits all” expectation of who I was supposed to be. It’s not even the earliest example I can remember, just one that persists in my memory. At the time, I was on the cusp of childhood and my tween years. While I was crushing on the teacher, I was also limiting my ability to grow. I felt like I had to be fully formed at all times and that my final form had to be what other expected of me. Honestly, even now years later I can’t entirely say for certain that I leaver room for myself to grow. I just wasn’t taught to do that, which is why as a foster parent, it’s going to be my main mantra for children in care. Sure, my husband and I are entering our fourth month without any word on a placement, but when that happens, regardless of age, gender, or any other defining characteristic, I hope I can show the child that even the heroes of the story don’t have everything figured out. Like Luke, Rey, Leia, or Anakin, sometime our life seems to be predestined by culture or lineage. Sometimes we have to atone for our parent’s mistakes. Sometimes the hero of the rebellion goes on to face his hubris and the parents need to be redeemed. Why? Because we are not stagnant beings confined to the limitations of the armor we wear. We are not clones born to fight for a cause, but rather we are like the Gungans, choosing to step up when our galaxy is at war. As a child in care, I know that their reality is always going to feel like they are a galaxy at war. The image they have of their parents will be forced to duel against the world’s expectations of parenthood. If they are the hero of their story, I hope I can be the wizard/hermit in the story that sheds light on their true potential. After fifth grade, I didn’t continue my passion for singing. I quite literally let my voice be silenced, at least musically. I eventually found my voice through writing and it has helped me work out my own expectations for myself ever since. For children in care, working to process their new starting point is an entire job stacked onto them. Their status as a foster child factors into their friend groups, their mental health, their familial ties, and more. Helping a child understand that they are so much more than their circumstances, they just have to leave themselves room to grow. -Erick L. Graham Wood [email protected] I would say that I had a fairly normal childhood. I played outside, read books, had lots of toys, and watched Saturday morning cartoons. I also have two great parents who weren’t always perfect, but who is? What matters is that they loved me, fed me, clothed me, and encouraged my education. Growing up I knew what my parent’s limitations were. My mother was diagnosed with depression after my birth, so I never knew her any differently. My father was prone to anger, possibly even dealing with his own undiagnosed personality disorder and I learned how to recognize their good days from their bad. There were many instances where I was the only one moving around inside my home, as my father was working my mother would sometimes be asleep in the dark in her own room. There were times when I misbehaved, and my father would pull out the holey belt from his closet. One time, when I was nine, I had made my father so angry that he removed a wooden plaque hanging on my wall, bent me over my bed, and broke the wood across my lower back. It took him four swings before it cracked. Ultimately, the rare physical punishments I received was nothing compared to the emotional toll of coming out to my parents. This was something that strained our relationship for half a decade, through my teenage years and into adulthood. Still, I love my parents for all of their shortcomings, and I know that they have always been on my side, wishing for my happiness. As a soon-to-be parent, I’ve been spending a lot of time reflecting on the type of authority figure that I want to be. Admittedly, I know that it’s weird to be writing my third monthly blog about parenthood when I have still yet to receive guardianship of a child in care. On one hand, I hope every child in the world is being raised by caring parents and my services as a guardian are not needed, but on the other hand, I have a fervent desire to be needed and no outlet for all my nurturing skills. Fortunately, this time for reflection has greatly increased my motivation to tackle topics that may differ pre-placement versus after gaining more experience. It has also allowed me the time to better delve into my fears of becoming a parent. Namely, what if I’m still searching for happiness and this is detrimental to the growth of my own children? Sure, I know that growth isn’t a straight line, it zigzags and goes in circles, and sometimes new forms of grief affect our ability to grow. It is this reason that I feel so fragile. How do I know that I can bare the weight of a child’s trauma against my own? Over the past few weeks, it has become increasingly likely that my family will be burying multiple loved ones this year. Personally, death is one form of grief that I do not fear because I believe wholeheartedly that our spirits return to the living force and we will see each other after this mortal experience. When Old Ben Kenobi said, “If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you can possibly imagine,” I took that to heart. However, I’ve been pondering what my plan will be for when these deaths occur, and I am faced with the task of being a comforter as well as a mourner. My grandmother and my father-in-law are both facing the next chapter in their spiritual existence and this is the first time that I’ve realized that my children will not have a relationship with either of them. Sure, death is a part of life, but I view it as my main priority to shield the children in my care from witnessing more grief. As one may expect, there is no bigger topic in the world of foster care, or child development, than trauma. It is the participation trophy of life. The cherry on top of a sundae made entirely of bantha poo. Trauma is the reminder that even as we heal from our wounds and we try to live a “normal” life, our experiences still greatly affect our perception and reaction to day-to-day events. For those of us with expansive amounts of trauma, and especially for traumatized children, navigating the unfamiliar can be terrifying and the familiar can be triggering. The way that I cope with my own trauma-induced depression often leaves me searching for artificial happiness. Sometimes I get caught up in a book and I try to model my life similarly to the fictional characters. I get addicted to a new Starbucks drink and all I want to do is drive around sipping on sunshine and listening to music in my car. I even go on benders where I obsess over Star Wars theories and purchase fandom merch online. If someone were to look at my brain from the inside, I imagine a significant amount of my mental space is still filled up with processing that past trauma. Sure, the rest of my brain is probably made up of Star Wars references, mental snapshots of hot dudes, and memes, but a big part of who I am comes from how I’ve processed the hurt in my own life. And even though I can recognize my current coping strategies, I will be forced to find new ones that allow me to include a child into my process. At this point in my journey, I probably have more questions than actual answers. It’s also likely that I’m at that stage of pre-parenthood where I’m having doubts. The freshness of deciding to be a parent has worn off. The mania of nesting is over. I’m still in that “waiting period” where I’m excited to meet the child, but as every day goes by and I’m alone with my thoughts, another worry slips into my head. Realistically, I know that nobody is entirely ready to be a parent, and I’m sure no one feels completely grown up in their twenties. So, there’s no honest answer to how I’ll cope until that time comes. Here’s what I do know: First, I know that my primary goal is to minimize trauma in the life of the child I care for. The fact that I’m thinking about these topics before I’ve even met the child means that I am taking this responsibility seriously. My role as a guardian will be defined as a comforter and a protector. Second, I have been trained with the skills needed to address emotions in childhood development, including grief and anger. When the time comes that I must face these emotions in myself, my family and my husband, I have the vocabulary needed to help my child process what is happening around them. Finally, physical punishment has no place in my home and the children in my care will not know the significance of a holey belt. My fear of passing on my own trauma is misguided. Even though I am still figuring out who I am, that doesn’t mean I will be any less of a caregiver. Sometimes we think we aren’t ready for a padawan, even as the youngling is already looking up at us. Maybe it’s a universal feeling to still be seeking guidance while pretending to have the answers. Truthfully, tackling trauma is going to be a recurring theme as I continue to chronicle my experiences. In many instances, I will be helping a child navigate their emotions. This task would only be made more difficult if I didn’t take the time to address my own. Whether you’re a princess who watched her planet explode, a farm boy whose own father cut off his hand, or a smuggler with commitment issues, I’ll see you in therapy. -Erick L. Graham Wood [email protected] I have become accustomed to waiting. By no means does that mean I am a patient person, in fact, many would probably say that I am the opposite, the type of individual who needs instant gratification and praise or the type who drives themselves berserk looking towards the horizon wondering, “what comes next?” or “what is my place in the tapestry of the universe that someone seems to be weaving?”
Certainly, I do believe in a higher power and I was taught that I need to be malleable towards the whims of this “force,” but when I am not in the cockpit controlling the direction of my metaphorical starship, I often lack the patience to wait idly by and see which way the wind will blow. In the weeks since obtaining licensure to become a foster parent (nearly a month if anyone is keeping track) I have pondered on whether my impatience will be a burden on my ability to be a father, or if it will be the motivator that propels my cruiser into hyperspace. If this near-perfect metaphor is not clear enough, I worry about how my impatience will be tested as a parent. I imagine if I had picked up a copy of “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” or the Star Wars equivalent “What to Expect When You’re Expecting a Four-Armed, Green-Skinned, Wampa-Smelling Nerf-Herder,” I would have been told that “insecurities, fear, and impatience” are natural parts of the parenting process. After months of training, I do recognize that having patience is vital to raising healthy children. But how do I measure the right amount of patience? Surely, I know I will not lead with anger. I want to be the type of parent who forgives first and solves problems second. A jedi-master of parenting if you will. I know that is a lot of pressure to put on myself but, in my case, I am not raising my own younglings and I may not see the effects of my parenting play out over the course of their lives. Instead, I am trying my best to fill in the gaps of a traumatic experience in their childhood so that they will remember as little interruption to their upbringing as possible. In many ways, being a foster parent is like being one of the jedi who take children from their homes and provide them with lessons to help them navigate their future. But the question remains, are the jedi more suitable guardians than the parent who was present at the child’s birth? Had Anakin Skywalker remained with his mother, would he have stayed on the path of the light rather than falling into a pit of suffering and despair? Is my own trauma only passed down through genetics, or over the next year of my time spent with someone else’s child, will I unintentionally feed into the child’s dark side? Only through meditation and accepting that which I cannot control will I be able to listen to my gut instinct. Right now, I am sitting alone in my house writing these words wondering, “how much longer until I get that phone call telling me that they have a placement?” and “what am I forgetting to do in preparation for this child’s arrival?” As someone who likes to make checklists and always be accomplishing something, I find this period of waiting incredibly tiresome. I thrive on the ability to see progress. Much like Anakin biting at the bit to get a seat on the council, I am eagerly waiting for my own rank advancement. I have been granted licensure, but not graduated to actual parenthood. Maybe my eagerness is fueled by the lateral movement on the social hierarchy that signals to others “hey, I’m not just a 24-year-old taking up space, I’m a parent,” and that seems so alluring. In the same egotistical vein, I cannot deny that there is a part of me that feels good to say, “oh, I’m not just a parent, I’m a foster parent, which means I’m not contributing to overpopulation or feeding my own need for legacy. Instead, I am taking care of children in need. Look at me, I am a real philanthropist” and maybe I’m shouting from the social media rooftops, “I’m such a good person.” That is an effect of trauma in my life leading me to do anything it takes to feel valued or accepted. I believe my own need for gratification is also a byproduct of this. It Is a trial that I am working to overcome, and it circles back to my fear: will I be patient enough as a parent? My current impatience is due to excitement. That is a reasonable reaction. My impatience to know what the future holds is relatable, I am sure, to many people. However, when being a parent proves to be more difficult than I expect it to be, will my patience be enough? Will I cave because my motivations to become a parent are selfish? Only time will tell. Like Qui-Gon taking the time to meditate in battle between pulsating walls of laser, I must remember to take these quiet moments to reflect on my experience and navigate where I would like to go moving forward. If Star Wars has taught me anything, it is that our fears are often misguided. Yoda told Anakin that you must, “train yourself to let go of everything you fear to lose” and later told Luke, “patience you must have.” Already, before I have even met the youngling coming into my life, I fear to lose them. My impatience stems from the worry that the time I invest in this child may not be worth it in the end. As I write these words on this page, I want to let go of those fears. Sometimes people come into our lives for a reason and they bring lessons we must learn, helping us to grow. Parenting is a symbiotic relationship. For now, even just one day in a child’s life needs to be enough. I may not have forever, but if I pass on what I have learned I will be a positive force for this growing padawan. Maybe, just maybe, there will be some lessons along the way for this unexperienced jedi master too. -Erick L. Graham Wood [email protected] We all like to see a bit of ourselves in the characters we watch on screen. Anyone who says otherwise probably doesn’t see the story and the characters of their favorite show as anything but pure fiction. However, I fully believe that there are lessons to be learned from movies and TV and sometimes I even find myself identifying with fictional characters. So, it should be no surprise that when I was introduced to the character of Din Djarin and Grogu (better known as Baby Yoda) in “The Mandalorian,” I saw a bit of my own future being played out on screen. No, I’m not a super cool bounty hunter roaming the galaxy, nor am I a tiny green puppet, but I do know what fatherhood looks like when I see it. Let’s back up. See, not so long ago, in a galaxy pretty close to home, I met a man who I decided to spend the rest of my life with. Beyond that fateful encounter, we went on many adventures together, laughed together, cried together, and consumed a lot of calories together. We even shared a love for George Lucas’ 1977 space opera, “Star Wars.” All of these adventures led us to our newest and most life-changing journey...parenthood, where we now stand at the mouth of a Mudhorn cave ready to face the challenge head on, and we couldn’t be more scared or excited. Like Mando, we don’t know what type of little tike will end up on our doorstep or what challenges might come along with them. Since our journey into parenthood is intertwined with the foster care system, we too, like Mando, will be tasked with taking care of a child who has faced traumatic events and has an entire past history that we aren’t a part of. One day, we might even have to say goodbye to the child that we come to love as our own. As a writer and overall fan of a good saga, I want to document this journey from the very beginning. I want to write about the good times and the bad, the hard times and the times that we laugh together, and I want to talk about how it feels to have a child on day one versus day 101. I plan to write about the grief I feel when we inevitably part ways with that child, or the joy we feel when we get to claim him or her as our own. Hopefully I can even infuse some knowledge from a galaxy far, far, away into my writing and work out my emotions through this public online forum. Who knows when comforting words of wisdom such as, “you can’t stop change any more than you can stop the suns from setting” will come in handy? Or maybe themes like, “beware your heart,” or even, “there’s always a bigger fish” will do the trick for that day’s meltdown. Only time will tell. They say that 10,000 hours studying a subject makes anyone an expert, so I’m well on my way to having a PHD in "Star Wars." And the themes of fatherhood in the series are some of its richest parts. From Vader’s line, “no, I am your father,” to Jango Fett’s line about being “a simple man trying to make his way in the universe” fatherhood is a celebrated part of this fantasy world. So much so, that it leaves fans asking questions like “Is Yoda Grogu’s father” which is the type of absurd curiosity that I hope to bring to this blog each and every month. I don’t plan on being an expert, at all. There are plenty of podcasts, blogs, and Youtubers who have dedicated themselves to Star Wars lore or childcare. However, if I’m successful, maybe I can use one to better inform the other or maybe I’ll sit on a rock on my metaphorical Jedi Temple trying to call out with the force. (Hopefully calling out with the force doesn’t sound to much like crying from sleepless nights.) Currently my spouse and I are probably a few months out from our first placement, so we are nesting harder than a porg preparing for its porglets. (If those words are foreign to you, don’t fret, because there is no fandom-shaming on my watch, and I guarantee there will be plenty of child-related goodness to even out the alien animatronic allusions.) From our corner of the galaxy, to yours. May the force be with you (and hopefully with us) as we say “hello there” to a youngling and hold on tight for the adventure of a lifetime. -Erick L. Graham Wood [email protected] |
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June 2023
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