We're boys. We smash things.

After Sunday's big snow we all went outside to do some shoveling and playing. While I cleared the front walk, Erin and Henry built a snowman in the back yard. Both were pretty proud of their work.

Frosty had a carrot nose, stick arms and dried-grass hair.

After Erin relieved me of shovel duty, I got to spend some time playing with Henry. We made snow angels, tried building a fort (it was lousy fort snow), and then moved on to the inevitable snowball fight.

Neither of us are terribly fond of being schmucked by cold, drippy snow. We directed our rage toward Frosty.

By this time we had magically transformed into Luke Snowalker (Henry) and Han Snolo (me). Darth Frosty (or Frosty Vader, as we sometimes called him) didn't know what hit him.

First Luke threw giant snow bombs at him. Then Han whacked him a couple of times with his light sabre (snow shovel). Then we took turns blasting him with the Force (kicking and jumping on him).

There wasn't much left of Darth Frosty when we were finished. Henry suggested we throw his body over the cliff. I reminded him that was actually the fate of the Emperor. We decided to let him lie in a heap.

I think the only one more devastated than Frosty was Erin. She couldn't believe what horrible things we did to that poor snowman. She told me later that she was truly looking forward to admiring him from the kitchen window over the next few days.

She has many times shaken her head about this episode. Part of her knows boys have the innate need to smash things. The rest of her is pretty sure Henry and I are a couple of idiots.

She's always underestimated the seductive power of the dark side of the Force. It concerns me.

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