TO MY DEAREST children, on the occasion of the release of “Star Wars: The Force Awakens”:
Like most parents today, I am dedicated to your general bliss, encouraged to support your choices and desires. To this end, I have endured many hours of “Caillou,” several increasingly inane Chipmunk movies, and a limited number of episodes of “Dance Moms.”
And yet, after all of that, you refuse to accompany me to “Star Wars.”
Seriously: I am the only person in the family who’s remotely excited about AARP Han Solo, or rusty R2D2, or an orange droid and some other intergalactic people. I’ve tried not to spoil myself too much, as I am holding out hope that I can get you to sit beside me in a darkened theater for 136 minutes, bribed with Milk Duds and Dots.
But you claim not to care about Dots. I guess the dentist finally got to you. And yes, I understand that you’re not sci-fi people. I’m the only one in the family who got physically upset over Cylon unveilings on “Battlestar Galactica,” and who once — OK, maybe more than once — set up a small shrine to Jean-Luc Picard.
But here’s the tragedy of modern parenting: It’s a lot harder now to impose culture by force.
Read the full Boston Globe column here.