Godfather?

So one of my friends had a funny thing to say. She brought her son with her to the 'que. This young lad has the good taste to collect, among other things, "Star Wars" toys (as many boys do).

A couple of years back, I was cleaning out my storage space and found that I had a ridiculous number of "Star Wars" figures and toys. I loaded the lot of them up in one of those giant plastic storage tubs from Target, brought it into the office, and handed it off to my friend.

She then took it home to her son.

I'm told his excitement defied words. There's actually a funny story that accompanies his joy of playing with the toys, but I think I'll refrain from posting it here.

Recently, I've gone through scraps at my desk at work (also littered with toys), including a LEGO "Jango Fett" my friend Rach got me. I decided the time had come for these toys to go into younger hands, so once again, I looked up my friend and had her hand them off to her son.

So I talked to my friend today and thanked her for showing to the 'que. She told me her son apparently considers me his "godfather" because of all the toys.

So now I have to ask myself: do I need to buy a pin-striped suit? Do I call myself "Don"? Do I now have a minion?

This is why I won't ever be allowed to have kids. I think like this.