We watched this commercial, and he came running. He lamented his lack of Darth Vader costume and I told him he had one, in the dress up box. He ran and returned with a black polyester pant suit, a gift from my Aunt who has already dealt with small boys and the Dark Side. Now she is dealing with football and high school and other more frightening things.
I put the suit on him and roll up the pant legs, too long on his three year old frame. He wishes for a helmet and I tell him to use his imagination. He asks me what the buttons are for, the ones screen printed onto his chest.
I have no idea what they are for, but they probably aren’t for anything good, and I open my mouth, intent on diminishing the glamour of super villains.
“That button is to make coffee.”
He stares at me, confused, and I smile to tell him I am joking.
“But, there’s no cup!” he looks at me, his logic surpassing mine for the fortieth time today.
I just stare at him, speechless. No cup for Darth Vader’s built in coffee maker? I’m stumped.
“Oh, it goes straight into his tummy right mom?” he problem solves.
“Er, probably. Great idea Q”
And the questions continue as long as there are buttons, and I tell him that Darth Vader also has a soda dispenser, and a cd player built into his control panel.
“and THIS button flushes the toilet!” I say, straight faced.
There is a long pause, and my husband’s exasperated glance almost sends me into giggle fits, but Q speaks first, “Ohhh! So when Darth Vader goes pee pee in his suit dis button flushes it away?”
I laugh then, and I feel better thinking I have toppled the glamour of the super evil Darth. I relax and say, “What is this button for Q?”
The last button.
“Oh, this button? This button is for…SHOOTING BULLETS! PEW PEW!” and he runs off to shoot his Grandmother, and I am left to wonder what to do with this boy who loves all things powerful and super. Guns make me nervous, to say nothing of mind controlling half robot space things. Maybe I should be worried.
We tell him that good guys are stronger than bad guys, and that God is the biggest superhero of them all, and the most powerful, and nothing is impossible with Him.
It sounds so good until…”Mom, why doesn’t God do tricks?”
And I stall, against a wall of theology I’ve never thought about, “Uh, what do you mean by tricks?”
“YOU know, cool tricks. Tricks like I do.”
“What sort of tricks do you do Q?”
“Why God not wiggle his bottom like me?”
And it’s then that I realize that I don’t know much, and hardly anything, and maybe it’s a comfort to have the mystery of God, and maybe these conversations are to teach me that I am not the one who saves. It takes a miracle, a hand of God, for things like this.
I’ll just settle in to my couch, push aside three Transformers and a Superman, and pray. It’s the only thing this mother who doesn’t know much can do…pray, and laugh.