It’s tough being a dad sometimes. Not the usual kind of tough, like fixing a leaky faucet or giving the dog a bath without ending up wetter than he is. No, I’m talking about the kind of tough where you watch your 15-year-old son go full berserk over losing a one-on-one match in some apocalyptic, first-person shooter and wonder if it’s too late to take up knitting.
There he is, smack in the middle of the living room, thumbs firing at warp speed, barking commands to teammates who can’t hear him and probably don’t care, his leg already bearing the bruises from his own fists. A loud ‘I CAN’T WITH THIS, BRO…’ rings out just as the screen goes red and the game declares defeat.
Now, I don’t know about you, but I grew up in the arcade era. I remember sweaty palms gripping a joystick, sweating for that high score, and then losing to a pixelated ghost in Pac-Man. Sure, I’d get mad. I might’ve kicked the machine once or twice. But here’s the difference: those machines didn’t ban me from playing for 24 hours after a rage quit.
Xbox does, though. And there’s my kid, staring at the screen, banned for the day, fuming like a tea kettle left on the stove too long. I want to help. I want to tell him that games are supposed to be fun, not something that turns you into a seething ball of teenage frustration.
So, I try. I ease my way in with a suggestion. ‘Hey, bud, what if we tried something different? Maybe a game that doesn’t make you want to punch yourself in the leg?’ I suggest It Takes Two, which earns me a glare that says, ‘Seriously, Dad?’
I tell him about how I used to go to the game room to escape, not to test my blood pressure. I tell him how fun it can be to play something that doesn’t make you hate the world (or yourself). ‘Come on,’ I say, ‘give it a shot. You might find it’s nice to play a game where the biggest challenge is catching a butterfly.’
He rolls his eyes. But later, I notice him playing a relatively peaceful zen game on his phone, not screaming at the screen for once. Baby steps, right? I’ll take it.
Being a dad means watching your kid get knocked down and finding ways to help him get back up. Even if that means sitting through an hour of watching virtual cabbages grow. And who knows? Maybe someday he’ll look back and remember that his old man was right about more than just how to fix a leaky faucet. Maybe.
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