Deep Dark Secrets

We all have them. Things about ourselves, or our past, that we don't want others to know. Things we'd rather not admit to anyone, not even ourselves. Hidden parts of our soul. Before you get all excited and start thinking I'm gonna get deep and reveal something about myself, let me clarify. No. This post isn't about one of MY deep dark secrets. Oh no. This is about The Greatest.

The other day I discovered one of his deep dark secrets. Something I had never known about him. Information I can now use against him. Information I will bring up in arguments that have nothing what-so-ever to do with the secret, but hearing it said out loud will fluster him, turn the conversation off-track and allow me to get my way (yes, sometimes I fight dirty, now you do know a deep dark secret about me). And of course, like a good wife, I'm going to splash it all over the Internet.

There had always been signs. He saved the Burger King Kids Meal figurines of Darth Vader and his Storm Troopers. They've sat on his desk for several years now. Despite being a cop, The Greatest has always like the bad guys better than the good guys (they have more fun), so I thought this was just an off-shoot of that obsession.

When my Little Brother introduced us to M.C. Chris and The Greatest's favorite song was Fetts's Vette I should have suspected. But I was clueless, I thought it was a fun song too.

And the other day when we were walking in Wal-Mart, and I saw a Star Wars display and make a joke about it, and he very tersely informed me that we owned all the "good" Star Wars movies, I only briefly wondered when we'd purchased so many Star Wars movies. I didn't ponder the fact that we owned four, and that The Greatest had given the movies enough thought to actually classify some as good and others as not good.

I was so clueless. The signs were all there. Surely you can put the pieces together. But I was in denial. Either too busy to see, or perhaps too much in denial to admit what was right before my eyes.

But I can no longer deny it no longer. Yesterday the truth was thrown in my face.

We're decorating Meaty's room. He's growing into such a big boy, and it is time for a big boy room. Our new house has terrible olive green carpet.

Just look at it. If our appraisal hadn't clearly stated that our house was built in 2005 I would have thought this carpet was original from the 70s. We knew we wouldn't be able to replace the carpet for several years, so we've decided to make it work for us. We're going with an army sort of theme in Meaty's room. Blue walls with olive green carpet. We've got a framed poster of Master Chief on his wall and I'm scouring the Internet for some camo bedding (none of that new pixalated junk, I'm looking for some old school color blobs). We decided it would be cool to hang airplanes and helicopters from his ceiling with fishing line. And wouldn't you know it, we've got a box in the garage just full of The Greatest's childhood toys. He swore the box contained old G.I. Joe airplanes we could use.

So we pull this box out of the garage and open it to discover that there were indeed several G.I. Joe airplanes and helicopters and every last one of them was broken and missing pieces. Junk. So glad we hauled this box across the country on a moving truck that was packed to the gills and where every box counted. I'm so glad we gave all our baby clothes to Goodwill so we could bring this box with us instead. But I'm not bitter. I'm really not, well, mostly I'm not. For the things that were also contained within the box made it all worth it.

First he pulled out this

Then this

And this

And these

And finally came the...





Are you ready for it?




THE EWOK VILLAGE!

At first I was stunned, running a mental tally of how much we could make if we sold them on ebay. But when The Greatest reacted with horror to the idea of selling them I realized the truth. With frightening clarity I realized the aweful horrible truth.

THE GREATEST IS A STAR WARS GEEK!

He has saved all his Star Wars toys from his childhood, and unlike the G.I. Joe things, these were all intact, not a tiny plastic piece out of place. I teased him, calling him a geek, telling him I would have to blog this, taking pictures of it all. Normally he can take some teasing, he doesn't take himself too seriously. But he got all (to quote his favorite phrase) "butt-hurt" and was strangely defensive, informing that he was only five years old when he played with these toys.

Yet he had saved them all these years, carted them all over the country, refused to part with them.

Then he turned his back on me and proceeded to take out all his "action figures" and line them up on the counter according to their alliance with the light or the dark side. Then when he was done, while I was putting the baby down for a nap, he took pictures for me. I guess the one I took

weren't good enough to document them for posterity.

His photos look like this

The best G.I. Joe plane was given to Meaty to play with and finish destroying as only a five year old boy can. The Star Wars toys were all lovingly re-packed and returned to the garage.

I still love the man. I now know one of the darker corners of his soul and can over look, maybe even forgive this new facet of who he is. It's possible I might love him even more for this. But what's truly frightening? The kind of frightening that keeps you awake at night? My FATHER is an admitted Star Wars geek. Does anyone remember this post? Scary!