From Forbes
When my wife and I separated, I moved into my parents’ house. Now I spend a lot of the days and nights that I have custody of our two small boys (ages 5 & 7) sitting next to them on my mother’s sofa playing New Super Mario Brothers on the Wii.
Playing video games.
I know how it sounds: pathetic.
I’m a thirty-five year old man, living with my parents, manipulating my thumbs to try and save Princess Peach from Koopa’s castle. They write Saturday Night Live sketches to make fun of people like me.
Conveniently, it is fashionable to blame the economy for the poor salary I earn as adjunct faculty at the university. I’d need to earn at least twice as much to be able to repair my credit and move into my own place.
What about the video games? Does playing with my kids count as quality engaged ‘family-time’?
I think so.
For one thing, my kids love it. When I pick them up from their mother’s house, they immediately start screaming from the back seat of the car, “Can we play Mario when we get to your house?” We fight over who get’s the best power-ups. We exchange high fives whenever we level-up from one world to the next.
But just because my kids like it doesn’t mean it is good for them. They would also be happy if I gave them candy for breakfast and let them stay up all night watching horror movies.
Video games are different. This is the world of my kids’ imagination. When I take it seriously (and participate along side of them), I’m not only validating their inner world by giving positive reinforcement to the things that matter most to them, I’m also providing fun and supportive space in which a sophisticated emotional intelligence can emerge.
Of course, I don’t just sit there silently, fingering the D-pad. I don’t embody the role of the almost-middle-aged slacker. Instead, I embody the role of the ‘father.’
I don’t allow the game console to be merely a babysitting computer that distracts my kids while I flirt with my girlfriend on Facetime. Instead, it is something that father and sons do together.
Most importantly, I talk with my boys about what it’s like to play the game.
–What emotions go with jumping high enough onto the flagpole that you get a free life?
–How do you feel when you lose because your little brother made Yellow Toad accidentally hop on your polka-dotted cranium?
–Don’t you think it’s kind of crazy that you get better at winning by losing over and over again?
Read the full article by Jordan Shapiro from Forbes.
