The boy, now 10, was pondering what he and I wanted for Christmas.
I admitted that I want very little: more time; some gold; a house in the countryside with chickens, goats and bees; a nice telescope; a driving license; and a large lump sum of cash is never wrong either.
I gaped. When I was 10, I wanted, with a fierce passion, Star Wars stuff. My entire life, every single sparkling molecule of me, was Star Wars.
I ate, slept, breathed Star Wars and saved for a half-year for the yearly trip to Limerick where I got to buy a few Star Wars figures. And the concept of “having enough stuff” was as alien as eating pasta, or being able to fill the entire bath with hot water.
The boy is of course the only grandchild on his mother’s side, and one of only four on mine, so it’s understandable that he already has everything. But it’s also very nice that he realises it, that stuff never ends and that, eventually, you simply have enough of it.
So the boy wants “experiences”. And those I am happy to provide.
Footnote: Star Wars is a trilogy of movies made between 1977 and 1983. And that’s when Star Wars ended. Anything else you may have seen with the name “Star Wars” was just a bad dream.