Archive for September, 2007
A wave of toys washes across the floors of several rooms in our house when, at high toy-tide, our daughter diligently unpacks the chests and shelves filled with her favorite things. At first glance, these waves may seem chaotic, but look closer. S— has arranged her “people” (mostly Fischer-Price Little People, with a couple of Weebles and her beloved Purple Man DDR figure mixed in) in a graceful fractal arcing from one corner of the coffee table to another. Each is facing the same way, and they’re all “watching” a pile of toy birds “sleeping” on the sofa in a pile that alternates bird and blanket, a sort of impromptu toy napoleon.
On the other side of the room, I pick up a discarded toy cow—or maybe it’s not discarded. “No!” wails my toddler, “It’s talking to the otter!” I look down. Sure enough, the cow was positioned face-to-face with a toy otter. I was unwise to interrupt their conversation.
When S— goes to sleep, the toy-tide recedes. Plastic teacups go back on shelves in the toy kitchen, stuffed animals assemble in the toy chest, and the sofa transforms once again into a place to sit rather than a stage.
Among all these toys, though, there aren’t any that qualify as “games.” Oh, she plays games of pretend with them, and as I posted in the first part of this series, I hope this will lead to a lifetime love of roleplaying games. But she doesn’t have any games proper.
For the most part, manufacturers don’t make too many games for toddlers. Crazed parents will hand over thousands of hard-earned dollars for toys stamped “educational” on their packaging, but the littlest kids just don’t play games. Only after about a year of life to do they even have enough perception, language, and motor skills to start imitating what they see their parents and friends do for fun.
But on one rainy day on my recent vacation, I got to see four kids aged two to four (my daughter on the young end) playing actual, commercial games. These games are actually targeted at older kids, and in fact not one was played strictly according to the Rules. But then, what game ever is?
The three games they played were:
The fishing game—purchased by the parents of one kid because the nearby pond permitted fishing, so they thought they’d bring the fun indoors—proved thoroghly entertaining. On, only one kid (the youngest) had anything approaching the motor skills to actually catch a fish by the official method, but all of them (even the skilled one) had a grand time carefully inserting the hook into the mouths of fish as they passed. Or simply grabbing a fish of an appealing color. In the end, though, they treated the game more as a toy which had a skill element than a real game.
The homemade fishing game that I brought over—which my wife made from wooden dowels, rare earth magnets, string, paper, and paperclips—proved much more popular. Sure, we had only two rods, and the “fish” were pictures and bits of greeting cards. But the fun of fishing for a picture of my daughter or a reindeer with a magnet dangling from a string was something the girls were better able to do, was more relaxing, and was much more rewarding (”I got a horse!” “I got S—!”)
They treated the Peanut Butter & Jelly card game as a toy instead of a game, too. Instead of trying to build a particular sandwich, the kids just shouted out when one dad would call, “Who wants peanut butter?” or “Who wants bacon?” The littlest kid wanted them all, of course, but in the end the girls assembled some remarkable sandwiches. My daughter decided to treat her sandwich (meticulously free of meat products, coincidentally; maybe she’s picked up on our family’s vegetarianism without understanding it) as a toy and pretended to eat it for several minutes after the other girls put theirs away.
Zingo! came the closest to being played as a game. Basically “bingo with pictures,” the game drops two sturdy tiles with images that may match the squares on each kids cards. The girls each took one card for themselves and one for their dolls, and they happily laid matching tiles on pictures as they showed up. The precocious youngest girl quickly memorized both sides of her cards (the green side apparently leads to less “competition,” but both sides have images), and we laughed as she flipped each card over whenever a chip with a picture she remembered on the other side came up, dumping any that she’d placed on the front.
None of the girls played to win. None of them felt the slightest bit of competitiveness (which,
really, is a fine thing; toddler competitiveness can get ugly fast and is expressed mostly through
whining). But they did sort of play to fill their cards.
The youngest recommended age for these three games is four, and the girls definitely weren’t ready to play them as proper games. But as a gamer myself, and a doting father, I had a grand time watching them experiment with the beginnings of gaming.
After the last sandwich card and Zingo! tile was put away, they reverted to their favorite kind of game: roleplaying games. The oldest decided she was a teacher, and the other three—and their dolls—happily assembled as pupils and did what she told them. Or did something else. No one really minded, as everyone was having fun.
September 7th, 2007
Sabertooth Games is offering two free random demo decks of their UFS (Universal Fighting System) collectible card game, along with a copy of the complete rules. All you have to do is fill out the form here before supplies are gone.
I’m not the target demographic of this game. I have never been very interested in the fighting video game genre, and the last thing I need is another CCG to interest me. That said, this seems like a great chance to try something I wouldn’t otherwise even consider, so I’ve signed up.
Any devotees of the game out there? If so, put up a comment letting me know what to expect!
September 7th, 2007
Recently, my daughter played what I called her very first game. Since that time, she’s become something of a hardcore gamer, at least as much as a two-year-old is likely to be.
No, she’s not like this kid (featured in a story that smacks of bad parenting and a healthy serving of hot, steaming bullshit), but she does love to play games.
There are the obvious “pretend” games. This past weekend, for instance, she decided to pretend that we were going on vacation again. She packed bags (paper ones) full of her favorite toys, handed one to me and one to my brother-in-law, and led us in an endless march around the downstairs. She also enjoys making pretend food in her kitchen (which must be left where she puts it on the dinner table next to the real food or we are subjected to serious complaints) and pretending that things are not as they seem.
“This is a truck,” she declares, holding up a toy rabbit. And when corrected: “I want to pretend it’s a truck!”
This is all good practice for roleplaying games, of course, as is her budding collection of various dice. She found my dice collection very interesting long before it was safe to let her play with the little polyhedrons.
I remember one morning about a year ago when I came downstairs after a late-night game session with her. Back then, we took great pains to make sure that nothing that could fit in her mouth that wasn’t food got in her hands. Apparently though, in my exhaustion, I’d left 1d6 on the living room floor. I discovered the wayward cube in my daughter’s mouth, the lopsided grin on her face giving away the fact that she’d popped in something that wasn’t supposed to be there.
She has her own dice bag now (a satin bag that a small bottle of Godiva liquer came in, donated by my wife), and it’s full of several dice I don’t need. Even though I haven’t played D&D for years, I still have a notion that a set of dice requires, at a minimum, 1d4, 4d6, 1d8, 2d10, 1d12, and 1d20, so I made sure my daughter has all of those. They’re mostly dice I never pick up, but I did include several of the very first geek dice I had, clear crystal dice with numerals that I filled in with crayon sometime in the early ’80s.
While on vacation, we played quite a few games with her three friends who were staying in the house next door. There was, of course, some good pretend play, but they also had some purchased games that I’ll write about soon.
September 6th, 2007
During my two-week vacation last year (2006), I spent many an evening playing World of Warcraft (for which I’d just reactivated my account) on dial-up while my one-year-old daughter slept in a room separated only by a curtain. My delight in exploring the genuinely different workings of each class (I leveled “one of everything” to ten) and pleasure in playing with real-life friends kept me interested and engaged (and up late).
This year, though I had my laptop with me, I didn’t run WoW even once. I spent a great deal of time online via dial-up (mostly for work), but not one moment of it related to MMORPGs. I didn’t even bother to make my once-every-four-days mooncloth or once-daily arcanite.
And I didn’t miss it for even a second.
This doesn’t entirely surprise me. Although I very much enjoyed hitting 70 and the whole process of leveling, I had begun to realize that the time:reward ratio was getting worse and worse. I’d eagerly anticipated some serious PVP time, but after a few attempts I began to realize that my crappy gear was a liability. And the prospect of having to do badly for long enough that I’d earn competitive gear made the whole thrill of PVP start to feel like a treadmill rather than a challenge.
Now, I know that MMOs are designed as treadmills. The most rewarding treadmill is leveling to the level cap, as almost every level grants you new abilities or power improvements to play with. WoW’s reputation grinds are less pleasurable. You have to stay on a rep grind’s treadmill for a long time to get the best rewards. But some of the rewards are good enough that a serious player might justify the time investment.
(Ironically, I know most people see leveling as an obstacle to be overcome to enjoy the game. In truth, though, I think the vast majority of players actually enjoy leveling most. They may not be the most vocal on the various discussion boards, but most players, once they hit the cap, will either start leveling another character or will find another game.)
For myself, though, I’m just not motivated by the idea of having the rarest pattern, mount, or suit of armor. I like ones that give me an edge in gameplay, of course, but once you’ve got 98% of the “edge” you can hope for, investing the same amount of time all over again for the final 2% just doesn’t interest me.
So I’ve begun experimenting with other MMOs. I’m in the beta for Tabula Rasa, and I’ve downloaded demos for Lord of the Rings, Dungeons & Dragons Online, and even Sword of the New World. I’ll have separate posts about all those, of course, and I may actually sign up for any one of them. The prospect of leveling up in LotRO or DDO has tempting elements, although taking a real, extended vacation from MMOs so I can really indulge in board games, other computer games, card games, and even non-game relaxation has great appeal as well.
Quitting an MMO used to seem like a terrible prospect. Having invested time into a character (or several), it’s hard to let them go. But now, because you can always quit an MMO and count on your characters being there if you decide to come back, I’ll be canceling my WoW account soon. I’m almost certain I’ll be back when the expansion comes out, to enjoy the leveling process. And before then, I’ll take the time to enjoy any other MMOs that catch my interest. (Pirates of the Burning Seas seems the most exiting to me, but it could turn out to be terrible.)
But having take a break from WoW, I’ve learned a lot about what I want from my leisure time. I want fun. It doesn’t have to be easy fun, but it better be genuine fun. If not, I’ll be moving on to something else.
For those of you out there who have quit, how did it feel? And what are you doing now?
September 4th, 2007
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