One Halloween years ago my very young son, Chase, was dressed as a Star Wars padawan apprentice with a lightsaber, robes, and all the trimmings. Costumes were serious business at our house, so he looked pretty cool, cool enough to draw the attention of some older boys who tried to taunt him into doing something he didn’t want to do. I don’t know what this heinous act might have been, all I heard was, “Nope, I won’t do it, even if you call me Chicken Jedi.”

I didn’t see Chase’s face at that moment, but I can make a fair guess that his mouth was set in a flat line, his eyes perfectly clear as he gave them a good look, then walked away. He’s nineteen now, and I don’t know if he remembers that Halloween, but he has continued to reveal himself as a young man who decides for himself and walks straight down that road. He taught me that a Chicken Jedi recognizes his own power and refuses to give it up to the unworthy, no matter who might taunt him.

Being the mother of a Chicken Jedi became much harder when Chase decided motorcycles were worthy. For my part there was a great deal of handwringing and admonitions of doom, yet he was unmoved. If you happen to be in Utah once we’re all out and about, and see a black leather clad Elmo riding a motorcycle, it may very well be him.

In these days of international lockdowns as the coronavirus stalks through the streets eager to beat those foolish mortals into submission for such unforgiveable crimes as going to work or the grocery store, I’m wondering how our teenagers are faring. At a time when they are stretching their wings and individuating from their parents, they’re wretchedly ratcheted back to the apron strings. I bet many of them feel bound and gagged, and they make my heart go out to another Chicken Jedi, Anne Frank. Read More