I returned on Wednesday from a visit abroad, about which more later. The main thing I have to report is that during my visit I regained hope for the young.
One might be forgiven for questioning my use here of the reiterative prefix, given that I have heretofore tended to display a distinct lack of ever having evinced any hope whatsoever for the young, but let’s put it down to jet lag for now and leave it at that.
One morning during my trip I had a conversation with a young person sixteen years of age about some highly traumatic events from his past and the emotionally fraught present repercussions thereof. The arc of our discussion had touched down, and we’d sat in solemn if friendly silence for some moments. Then:
YOUNG PERSON: Is C-3PO gay?
FAUSTUS: Yes.
YOUNG PERSON: …
FAUSTUS: Is R2-D2?
YOUNG PERSON (derisively): R2-D2 isn’t gay. R2-D2 can’t even talk.
FAUSTUS: …
YOUNG PERSON: …
FAUSTUS: …
YOUNG PERSON: …
FAUSTUS: What about Chewbacca?
YOUNG PERSON: Complete fruit.
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