Dear Evan:

Not long ago in a house not so far away, you discovered a stash of my old Star Wars toys, and fell in love with R2D2. Seriously in love. You will sometimes walk around the house, arms straight down (to look like droid legs), whistling instead of talking.

It’s really serious. You own R2 hats, shirts, toys, balloons. R2 accompanies you almost everywhere. I’ve actually stopped playing the “Which Droid Do You Want to Be?” game. (Not true. I pretend to be R5D4, whose motivator breaks as soon as he’s introduced. Then I can sit still while you play.)

I am thrilled. I love that we share this enthusiasm for the story that so captivated me at your age. I love that I can share that with you on this of all years, when we got the first Star Wars movie in a decade, and the first *good* one since I was a child.

We went on Friday, the day it opened, but during the day when crowds were relatively smaller. Your mom and I went the night before to make sure it would be okay, and it was.

It’s difficult to tell what you got out of it. Certainly you asked lots of questions, your breath rich with mac and cheese and chocolate milk, kneeling in your seat and whispering to me. You pulled your R2 knit hat over your eyes only once, during a scene with admittedly scary monsters. You stared in quiet wonder as Poe Dameron swooped his X-wing up and around and through the skies.

You unquestioningly accepted – and I count this as good parenting – a female hero in Rey and a black male hero in Finn. God, I hope your generation continues to accept that we are all strong and valuable and worth being the stars of our own space operas.

I don’t think you totally understood the quieter moments. I know you didn’t. But I know you’ll revisit them, and find a new depth to the movie, as you get older and maybe share it, someday, with your own beautiful loved ones.

I love you,

May the Force be with you,

Daddy