What Star Wars Taught Me About Watching My Daughter Grow Up

A Father's Transition to the Obi-Wan Phase

"The Force will be with you, always." — Obi-Wan Kenobi, Star Wars: Episode IV – A New Hope (1977)

The descent into Winston-Salem was delayed by an hour. By the time I arrived, Katie had already pivoted to evening plans. A quick hug, a “See you tomorrow, Dad,” and she was off, still one exam away from summer, already mentally there. In that brief exchange, I saw the new rhythm of our relationship: more ellipses than periods, more transitions than destinations.

Now it’s Sunday, and we’re waiting to board our flight back to San Francisco. The move-out mission was executed with near-military precision. Yesterday’s dinner at Mozelle’s served as the closing ceremony for freshman year. We shared fried pickles, Caesar salad, a NY strip with rosemary mashed potatoes (the undisputed MVP), and crème brûlée, a meal that felt less like indulgence and more like ritual.

This morning, she was fully packed by 10am, far from the chaos I’d imagined. Everything sorted, bagged, and stacked. We loaded the car and dropped it off, per plan, at her roommate Daisy’s dad’s apartment. No storage unit. No shipping drama. Just elegant, efficient logistics.

Afterward, coffee and donuts at Dough-Joe’s. Then she peeled off to meet friends. I wandered Reynolda Village as the clouds split open and the light poured in, saturating everything. California doesn’t look like this anymore, this green, this alive. The nervous freshman from last August was now fluent in Wake Forest’s social language. She reminded me of her mother.

The drive to Charlotte was uneventful, its own kind of triumph. As the Carolina landscape slid by, I realized the “successful move-out,” as I’d categorize it in my mental spreadsheet, was more than logistics. It marked a shift. Wake Forest in the rearview. San Francisco ahead. Two coasts, two distinct American stories, both shaping who she’s becoming.

Now, at the gate on May the Fourth, my timeline is full of Star Wars. The algorithm knows. I scroll through memes and announcements, reminded of how the franchise has marked the phases of my adult life.

In 1999, Lisa and I saw Episode I while planning our wedding and preparing to move to San Francisco. The prequels, despite their clunky dialogue, became part of our early marriage. Later, at Galaxy’s Edge, I watched Katie duel Darth Vader, a metaphor in motion. Back home, a full Stormtrooper stands in our bay window, “temporarily” placed there a decade ago. It has silently witnessed our shift from early-parenthood chaos to something quieter, more spacious.

This trip’s execution was the opposite of last fall’s anxious arrival. Her dorm is now stripped back to anonymity. Her gear is stowed. We shared meaningful meals. And now we’re at the gate. I’m in my Obi-Wan phase, nearby, still whispering, no longer steering. A Force ghost with a boarding pass.

What hit hardest was how little she needed from me. The independence. The grace with her friends. The systems. She didn’t ask me to lead, she let me witness. It wasn’t “watch me,” it was “I’ve got this.”

So today, I’ll start Andor Season 2 on the plane, not just to pass the time, but to mark it. A small, ceremonial gesture. New chapter. Same galaxy. One timeline overlapping with another.

For a while, Star Wars lost its mythic center. It became checkbox-driven, more about message than mirror. But lately, something’s shifted. The creative team seems to remember what Star Wars really is. Not a lecture. A legend. Not identity-first, but character-led. Story before politics. Hope, like Leia said, like the sun.

Mozelle’s became our place by accident, then sacred through repetition. Neutral ground to mark what’s ending and bless what’s next. Fried pickles and crème brûlée as ritual.

And now, as we board, we step into that liminal space between East Coast academia and West Coast ambition. Between her freshman and sophomore selves. Between the version of me who helped managed everything, and the version learning to simply be there, watchful, steady, quiet.

Star Wars taught us that letting go is part of the journey. That the best mentors step aside when the student is ready. Obi-Wan, Yoda, even Anakin, all eventually faded into the glow. Not because they were gone, but because their presence had become something deeper.

That’s what this trip felt like. A quiet fade to the edge of the frame. Still present. Still proud. Still watching.

And as our plane lifts into the clouds, I turn to her and think:

May the Force be with you, Katie. Always.