Nikki and I have encountered a new problem in parenting; Quinn is now interested in video games. Very very interested. So now we have to decide how to handle it of course. If allowed to, he would probably play for hours. So initially we have decided on time limits, and time of day limits. That’s easy enough, but now we have to listen to some whining (to his credit, not that much). The next part will come along soon and it will be what kind of games he can play. Right now I really don’t have anything that’s gory or too violent. His latest favourite is The Incredibles for the PS2. I must admit that I had played it initially and been stumped early on since I’m not much of a gamer anymore. Since he has been playing, I have of course been playing with him and helping him along, and I must say the game is really fun. It’s the perfect blend of action and non-violence for a kid like Quinn (in my opinion of course, I’m sure there are some people who would be horrified to think he was playing it, but there you go). Sure you punch bad guys and throw them around, but they then fade into the ground and there’s no blood or gore at all. Most of the violence is of the cartoon variety, like the movie.
So there you go, I have no idea what we will do next. Jordy was and is too easy, she likes her Dance Dance Revolution, some others, but would usually much prefer to be chatting on MSN with her friends.
This was prompted by reading this article on Wired this morning.
Here’s a bit of evidence that I’ll be an excellent letter-to-the-editor writing lunatic in my old age . . .
Having grown up in an alternate universe devoid of video games, I don’t think I’m entitled to an opinion on the subject of game selection for children: They all seem grossly inappropriate to me. When I was a kid I didn’t have Atari or Nintendo or even a Commodore 64. My sister and I played Monopoly and Chinese Checkers and Crazy Eights. Our entire family likes to stay about 20 years behind the times. It’s so much less stressful that way. Jason always jokes that if I had my way we would have a house lit with candle-adorned sconces and we’d wash dishes by hand and a quill and ink bottle would replace the computer. And the problem with all that would be?? He should be grateful for my low-maintenance lifestyle. A good book (with actual paper and a cover) and a bottle of Shiraz are all I need to keep me happy. And chocolate.
The saddest thing about the video game/electronics takeover is the utter lack of imagination among children. I’m sure every generation believes this is happening to the superseding group. But I truly believe we’re losing the art of storytelling in play. I will make a confession: I played with Barbies until I was about 13 (this play involved an unnamed friend . . . She might not wish to be identified). For me Barbies were never about the clothes and hair; I didn’t care what they looked like. Barbies were about the high drama and the complex, brilliant story lines. This would never happen today. Anna and her friends don’t even know what to do with Barbies. When I hear them quipping about what their Barbies will wear to the prom and uttering all kinds of nonsense including the OMG and BFF abbreviations–my very least favourite use of those letters–I feel like rushing into her room and showing her that the Barbies are meant to do cross-country road trips in their little red corvette and have wildly inappropriate affairs with cute teachers and go on crazy rock climbing adventures eventually becoming lost and teetering on the edge of death . . . These are only a few of the many stories; there were hundreds of others. Each one would make an excellent movie of the week. In fact, I remember tape-recording some of them under the auspices of midnight drama. In moments of unbridled passion and rage someone often got shot (I’d pop a balloon for sound effects).
Given that this is how I entertained myself as a child, you can imagine my chagrin when I find my 7-year-old son sitting passively, playing games where atrocities are being committed. I always stand in the wings poo-pooing the whole thing, but it’s tough to take a stand when Dad is sitting right beside him playing with equal excitement. Apparently I lack both the competitive and the video game gene. My isolated experience with a video game ended with such humiliation I swore them off for life.
The incident occurred while I was visiting my aunt in Belleville. She dragged me to bingo one night and her friend, perceiving my boredom, called her nephew and set up a date. I was a bit leery but when I saw an extremely cute 14-year-old boy enter the bingo hall, I decided blind dates were an acceptable means of launching a courtship. We went to a movie, made pleasant conversation, then started to walk back to the bingo. We passed an arcade so he suggested playing a few games. I panicked. I didn’t want to tell him I had never before played one. Not even a single game of Pacman or Donkey Kong. I figured I could fake it. I watched him play a game of Frogger and then he popped in a quarter for me. It was like one of those dreams where you want to move something—like your feet—but your efforts are painfully futile. I kept moving the lever but my little frogs couldn’t make it across the road. Each of my three games lasted about 20 seconds. I stared at the screen, still too shy to admit I had never seen a Frogger frog in my life. At this juncture my date went sour. His budding interest turned to mild disgust. He couldn’t dump me off the bingo hall fast enough.
Luckily I found a guy who doesn’t seem to care that I can’t text or play angry birds or download itunes. He finds my archaic ways somewhat amusing. As for my violent-game-loving son, I don’t worry about video games transforming him into a terrorist. He will always be shamelessly—almost tragically—attached to mommy. He is a sheep in combat fatigues.