I fought it. I fought it hard.
I was convinced that, if I gave into it, my little boy would be lost forever. He who still thought that dancing with me to 80’s pop music was a valid form of entertainment and exercise. A little boy who was still attached to his faded baby blanket and slept with its silky edge against his cheek. No, I needed to fight the good fight to preserve all things cherished and wholesome. I simply couldn’t compete against technological innovation with its brightly colored avatars and whimsical gateways into the unknown. If brought into our home, my little boy was certain to lose all need for multi-syllable speech and spontaneous dance competitions.
I fought against it like it was a Pied Piper playing a tune only children can hear, bracing myself against the front door to prevent its unwelcome entry. It – my nemesis and source of all things scary – was the gaming system.
Things were going well. My oldest son knew that gaming systems existed and, although he would often play them at friends’ homes, he never once asked for one of his own. He was content with our weekly board game night, learning the words to my “Greatest Hits of Michael Jackson” CD, and lining up hundreds of tiny green army men along stair banisters and window sills.
Then it happened. Last year, as the holiday season approached, commercials aired featuring the newest in bright and shiny Pied Pipers – the Wii U. From the very first commercial, I lost him. He wanted it. He wanted it bad. It was all he talked about and it was the only thing that would be whispered into Santa’s ear that year.
He would neither forget it nor substitute his selection for something unplugged. One evening, with a heavy heart, I told my husband “it’s time.” We have a child who is motivated by making us happy and proud; he is a child who gets emotional when we shop for children in need because the mere thought of them being unhappy is almost too much to bear. He isn’t just a good kid – he’s a great kid.
Yes, it’s time.
Christmas morning was filled with the energy of wishes granted and dreams come true. My youngest spent his time supervising as I put together the ninja tower that stood taller than his four-year-old frame, his dad barely awake as he went in search of another cup of coffee. My oldest son was speechless in his Wii U-induced haze, his mouth gaping as he pointed to the gaming system box in disbelief that Santa found the space in his sled to grant him such a wish. That day, and many that followed, were focused on this bright and shiny addition to our family as he explored its potential and magical transformation into a world never before seen. The mornings started with a tap on my shoulder and tiny face in my pillow asking in a whisper if he could go downstairs to play – and, yes, sometimes the sun was still hours away from rising. He wanted to play it before school, after school, and any moment when there was a lull in conversation.
Until, one day, things changed.
Otherwise content to play games that I neither understood nor had any desire to, my son’s interest suddenly turned to the new sports-themed game my husband had bought. Tennis, bowling, and baseball quickly became his favorite games to play and, although able to play against the system itself, he didn’t want to – he wanted to play against me. And his dad. Even, at times, his little brother. Much to my surprise, this little gaming system wasn’t a Pied Piper luring my little boy away; it introduced an entirely new activity to our family, one that lets us slip on our virtual bowling shoes and go for the strike … an activity that makes my son belly laugh when he aces his mom in a tennis match and even talk a little playful smack to his dad when he gets too cocky.
The Wii U has been in our house for a while now and, although all of its games get used from time to time, all I need to say is “I’ll play ya” to get my little guy to yell with excitement as he hands me a controller. He gives high fives and offers encouraging words when my bowling ball takes an unexpected turn right at the end of the lane. My little boy still likes busting out his best dance moves in the kitchen and isn’t anywhere close to giving up his blanket – he’s now just added “tennis pro” to his list of accomplishments and is still desperate to get the home run that continues to elude him.
So here I stand, a mom who was wrong. A mom who expended needless energy to fight against something unknown, misunderstood, and a shiny little something that has added nothing but fun to her family (also, admittedly, a hypocrite as I remember playing a game for hours on end that involved getting a little frog safely across the road).
During one recent tennis match, I jokingly declared “the family that Wiis together, stays together.” Perhaps there’s truth to those words after all.
Tiffany Killoren spends her days trying to act like she’s organized. Behind the scenes, she’s usually practicing yoga breathing to curb the panic over throwing too many figurative balls in the air. She’s a lawyer, freelance writer, published author and, most importantly, a mom to two hilarious, creative, and spunky little boys – seven-year-old Max, and four-year-old Finn. Realizing years ago that writing allows her to find the humor in almost any situation, Tiffany writes whenever the opportunity allows and can often be found on the second floor of her favorite coffee shop pounding on her laptop after consuming her weight in vanilla lattes. Tiffany has been a regular contributing writer to M Magazine and North Magazine, has had articles featured in other Kansas City and Midwest magazines, and is thrilled with the publication of her first novel, Six Weeks in Petrograd. Tiffany and her husband, Alan, can be found around Parkville trying to corral their two crazy boys and an equally crazy pound puppy named Maddie Lou.