What I do remember, though, is that none of our magical ages was two. Or, I’m sorry – two and a half. That half is a lot when you’ve only got a couple of years to your name.
But, yeah – two-and-a-half: not quite sure if our oldest is ready for some of those V-Tech devices that parents will claw each other’s eyes out for around the holidays. He certainly can’t grasp the concepts of a lot of titles, and he is not, not, not ready for violence. That’s all we really knew, and damn if we weren’t sticking to it. Despite his pleas for our fully functional controllers, he was shut down. And I do mean shut. Down. By his reaction, you’d think Calliou got freakin’ canceled. It was that sort of passion and ferocity.
But one night, the end of a long, obnoxious, chaotic day, I’d had enough of being the boy’s wrestling practice dummy:
“For the love of…here. Take it. Cars. Enjoy.”
I was whipping and weaving and wrecking my way through Need for Speed: Most Wanted in rides I could only dream of owning (let alone crashing). However, surprisingly enough, the experience is only so fulfilling if someone’s trying to Boston Crab you all the while – some Walls of Jericho type ‘ish. Okay, exaggeration. But he was trying!
Anyway, I gave him a toddler-sized rundown on the controls:
“Press this one to go! …No, this one. You got it? Okay, now this one to make it go whichever way you want.”
He didn’t quite get the last one. Short fingers. Pffft, babies.
When he got it going, his little face beamed with pride. He didn’t get (or care) about pulling off death-defying, how-did-you-survive-that stunts. All he knew was that the car was yellow (his fave – file that in your memory bank), and that oh me, oh my, that car is fast! Vroom, vroom, bitches.
And that’s what shook me from at least some of my new parent, black and white stupidity. It’s the scope, genius! Their scope matters! The level at which they can comprehend and relate to the game matters more than their age. Obviously I don’t want him going to preschool talking about running from the cops, but he doesn’t get that.
“Oooh, they’re helping people, mommy!”
That they are, my man. That they are.
