Wanted: Video Game Inventors
by Karen Williams | January 20, 2006
Seminole Chronicle
I witnessed a nostalgic and heart-rending scene recently. A group of boys was riding bicycles through our neighborhood.
"Poor things," I commented to my feller, Mark. "They probably don't own video games, so they're reduced to playing outside, as in olden times."
Then I realized: That's a good thing. Those kids are getting an old-fashioned dose of fresh air and sunshine.
"Yes, and their parents might actually get those boys to do chores, as in ancient times, before households revolved around those confounded games," he replied.
I gazed at Mark with untold appreciation. He, himself, has evaded the video game craze. He has seen it for what it is: a colossal waste of time and a dangerous obsession that keeps males glued to the sofa, shunning home improvement projects, trash-taking-out and meaningful conversation about the latest fashions.
Alas, my life was not always free of video games. As a lad, my older son, Smitty, saved up paper route money and bought his first Nintendo. Our apartment suddenly became a magnet for every boy within a two-mile radius.
They would crowd into Smitty's room, eyes glued to the television screen that showed the games in progress, utterly enthralled to watch as Smitty worked the controller.
At times, Smitty would good-naturedly ask, "Who wants to play?" An ear splitting "I do!" would come from the previously passive onlookers, and a rough-and-tumble fight would ensue as the boys rushed to grab the controller.
I learned to tough it out, standing by with bandages and icepacks for the injured ones and hot food in case any boy wanted to come to the kitchen and eat - no one ever did.
The Nintendo was rarely turned off . Gone were the days when Smitty, his brother and stepbrothers made their beds - or at least yanked the covers off the floor.
Gone was the time when they completed their homework, or at least made a stab at it. Each evening, the boys would inhale their dinner, skip dessert and rush back to Smitty's room to continue "Mario Brothers" or "The Legend of Zelda" while I sat, scratching my noodle.
Where was Dr. Phil when I most needed him?
Adult friends marveled at how I coped with the constant, repetitive video game music that filled our home. "What music?" I asked, realizing then that I'd blocked it out of my mind to save some shreds of sanity.
Eventually the sons and stepsons grew up and left home, taking along their by-then numerous video game systems. For several years now, the only games in my household have been board games, and the only annoying music occurs when I belt out show tunes after drinking too much Diet Coke.
Thus it was with intense dismay this Christmas when I witnessed my feller, Mark, unwrap his gift from Smitty, now a grad student at the University of Florida.
It was the return of the dreaded video game in the form of an "Xbox" system. I could have cried. In fact, I did cry, but it had no effect. Smitty hooked the game system up for Mark, taught him to use the controller, turned on the odious sound, and Mark was off and running.
I left for a few hours and returned to find Mark in the same location on the sofa - clutching and clicking the controller, eyes glazed over and staring at the television screen.
Addiction had set in.
And if I ever get hold of the inventors of these things, it will be GAME OVER for them.
***
Copyright 2006, Karen Williams
