Posts filed under 'Family'
The Brainy Gamer (a proud new parent, as well as a terrific blogger and podcaster) recently asked for thoughts on what age kids should be introduced to video games. I began writing a comment, but it turned into a post, so I’ll put my thoughts here instead.
My simplest answer: I haven’t yet seen a video game I’d want my two-year-old daughter to play.
I still believe that games (in general, not just video games) are among the absolute best learning tools available. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that most good education involves games and most of the best games involve learning. I haven’t examined the thought in detail, nor searched for evidence, but I suspect that peak playing experiences and peak learning experiences are biologically and socially very similar. I think humans (and other animals) have an evolutionary imperative to play that, at its root, arises from our need to learn and adapt.
But of course that doesn’t mean we should be plopping our six-month-old children in front of Halo 3.
My own daughter is now two and a half years old. We’ve been very careful in the consumption of all sorts of media. We decided to comply with the AAP’s recommendation to avoid all television before two years of age before she was born. I know some quality children’s programming may not hurt, but I also know that a you child’s mind may be one of the most powerful things in the universe.
Children seem built to learn, and to learn fast. It’s a good thing, too, because they have so much to learn. I remember thinking, in the first few weeks of her life, how many things I knew and knew how to do. Somehow, she’d have to pick up most of those, as well as learning millions of things I’d never know. Staring at the little warm bundle, I couldn’t imagine how it would ever happen.
Watching her walk and dance and do puzzles at two and a half, listening to her sing and laugh and have imaginary conversations with a toy llama, marveling as she happily matches pair after pair of Memory cards, I can see that, yes, it’s possible. She will successfully transform from the helpless tube she was to a wise, fun-loving woman. She’s built for it!
So much of what she’s had to learn exists in the “real” world. She had to learn that when she’s holding a toy and opens her hand, the toy drops to the ground. She had to learn that she can roll a ball. She had to learn that the cat doesn’t like to have her tail pulled but loves to have her face rubbed. She had to learn that when she laughs, her parents almost always laugh too.
Do you know that feeling of euphoria when you get completely immersed in some new and fascinating subject? Or when you begin to internalize the mechanics of a game? A new human has to be immersed in life. Every moment—even one so simple as picking up a rattle—is a moment of full engagement. As adults, we get experience this total engagement, this mindfulness, only occasionally; for children, it can be a full-time experience.
My daughter was exposed to some television before her second birthday. Not a lot. We never once left her in front of a set while we rushed about getting things done. (We still haven’t. When she’s watching, we watch too.) Whenever she caught a glimpse of that glowing, musical box, though, it grabbed her attention and sucked it in
The first time I saw it happen, I was a bit terrified. She directed her full concentration to the screen. She didn’t have any words, but the faces and music and colorful lights consumed her full attention. I knew her mind was fully engaged.
But her body had gone slack. The wriggling, the grasping, the giggling, the wild kicks . . . they all stopped. She became almost 100% watcher.
Television is so ubiquitous we forget how powerful it is. Watching my daughter get caught up in it, though, reminded me: it is awesome; it is terrible.
My daughter did have some positive early exposure to games. Although we resolved never to play World of Warcraft (despite the compulsion) while she was awake, when she was ten months old I did once log in long enough to move a character from one location to another in preparation for an event after her bedtime and she caught a glimpse of the screen. She loved watching “the bird” (I don’t remember if it was a gryphon or a hippogriff) fly gracefully over the forests.
She responded differently than she had to television. She sat in my lap, stuck her arms out, and leaned back and forth the way the bird did. She flapped her arms. And she laughed.
It seems to me that she knew, somehow, that we were involved with the flight. She saw the figure sitting astride this fantastical animal, and she understood that, in a way, we were riding it. I’d been pretty liberal in letting her play with my job-provided laptop. She’d bang on the keys and laugh or squeal when the screen changed. (We even have a record of some of her earliest “e-mail messages,” long strings of characters that delighted her grandparents.)
She understood that this device wasn’t there just to show her things, that it was a tool for doing things. She’d ask for the bird every couple of days for a while, so we’d send one of our characters on a longish flight. When it landed, she was sated.
Now, our daughter watches a little bit of TV almost every day. That is, as a family we watch from fifteen to forty-five minutes of TV together within the hour or so before she goes to bed. We choose the content from DVDs and video tapes.
See, now she’s ready for it. She has a huge mental vocabulary, so she can understand what’s happening on TV. When she was one year old, she didn’t necessarily understand that everyone had a name, that animals couldn’t talk, that balls never fall up, that letters had sounds. Now, when she watches a few clips from Sesame Street (out of distaste for Elmo, “the Red Menace,” we only spin up selections from Sesame Street: Old School
, which offers a peaceful five minutes of cows instead of an overproduced barrage of self-promoting music and colors), she asks insightful questions about how the characters are feeling or sings along with the girl bringing her llama to the dentist.
So what about video games? Is she ready? She may well be ready for video games, but I haven’t found a single one that I’d waste her time with.
We don’t think she needs to master touch-typing by the time she’s five, and we know that a program that splashes bright colors on the screen in response to bangs on the keyboard will only interest her for a little while, while costing more than the handful of animal figures that stimulate her imagination, figure in her storytelling, and keep her happily entertained for endless hours.
Really, these things aren’t so much games as toys. They’re virtual toys controlled by the keyboard, but toys nonetheless. As for the educational programs designed for slightly older kids, like the ones I see running on computers in the children’s section at the public library, I haven’t found one that appealed to me. Why? Because they don’t seem fun. (Defining “fun” can make for an excellent exercise when discussing the theory of games, but I still maintain that games should be fun.)
And she’s not ready for games requiring skill, dexterity, and timing, though they may be somewhat more fun. She’s still working on catching balls, the mechanics of fitting puzzle pieces together, and living without diapers.
My daughter shares my passion for games, but she doesn’t truly play them. For example, she adores chess (I happen to have a Simpsons chess set
, and the brightly colored, anthropomorphic figures are a big part of the appeal), but “playing” consists of setting up the pieces—along with other toys—on the board. When she helps roll the dice while the grown-ups play Arkham Horror or Descent, she’ll carefully count the dots, announce the number, and then throw her hands up in the air and cry, “I win! Daddy wins! Mommy wins!”
In a year or two, she’ll really be playing games. She’ll delight in figuring out how the rules work and developing strategies. She’ll take pleasure in a hard-won victory and (I hope) a fair defeat. When she does, I won’t hesitate to play video games with her.
But I’ll sure as heck be playing board games, ball games, card games, skill games, and roleplaying games with her, too!
January 17th, 2008
Alas, despite my passion for them, games continue to be a leisure-time-only activity for me. When my job keeps me tied to a desk for every hour of sunlight, the holidays approach, I contract food poisoning, and we decide to refinish a room in the week and a half before guests arrive, I find I have little time to play anything.
Coordinating leisure time with other people, a prerequisite for most games, can become downright impossible. I suppose that’s one reason why MMORPGs proudly advertise the ease of soloing. More importantly, it’s one reason why I, who ultimately prefer the creative fervor of collaborative storytelling with rules (that is, tabletop roleplaying games) spend so much more time playing computer games.
When I find myself so crunched for time that I can barely squeeze out a blog post a week, I nonetheless manage to fit in a bit of game-related activities. Here are my top four:
- Reading gaming blogs (much easier than writing posts) and other game-related media
- Poring over my ever-growing list of games I’d like to try
- IMing with friends about their game time (vicarious leisure > no leisure at all)
- Writing up quick descriptions of campaign settings I’d like to run
So what do gamers do when we don’t have time for real gaming? What para-gaming activities to do you enjoy?
Tobold once observed (and recently reiterated) that the true economic unit of MMORPGs is time. It seems it’s almost inherent to computer games (solo games, too) today that their worth is somewhat measured in how long they take to play. This doesn’t seem to be a characteristic of offline games (although replayability is a big issue).
Why is that?
November 14th, 2007
Another game I picked up during my vacation in Vermont was the Catan Card Game (Amazon
, Board Game Geek). My wife and I hoped it would give us the feel of the Settlers Of Catan Board Game
for two players.
We already have Starship Catan
, a two-player board game that uses a modified version of the resource mechanics from the original board game to fuel a space-exploration themed game. It’s great fun actually physically upgrading your ship with laser guns, engines, and probes, but it takes a while to set up.
I hoped the card game might make for quicker setup, hoped it would stay true to the original setting, and if nothing else give us an interesting taste of how a board game could be reinterpreted as a card game.
I’m happy to say that the Catan Card Game is a grand hit, at least with us. Setup isn’t instant, since the game comprises about six or seven different (small) decks, but once both players understand the rules, it plays fast and fun!
I have to admit, I have so far lost every single game to my wife. (Basically, she absolutely PWNs my ass in competitive tabletop games.) That hasn’t detracted from the fun of the play.
In the card game, each player is given a set of nine starting cards with which to build his or her “principality.” One of the nine cards is the player’s initial settlement, two are roads, and the remaining six are resource nodes, each displaying a single die. As in Starship Catan, resource accumulation is tracked by turning the resource node cards so the number of resources “stored” on that card (o, 1, 2, or 3) is placed at the bottom. A single card can’t ever hold more than three of its resources.
Players spend these resources to build roads (to separate settlements), new settlements (adding two new resource nodes for each settlmenet built), and buildings, as well as to upgrade settlement to cities (which can accomodate four buildings instead of two). Each of these is represented by a card, and as new places are built, the player’s principality grows—horizontally for new settlements, vertically for new buildings.
Although you can always build a road, settlement, or city if you can afford it (and cards of the appropriate sort remain), in order to construct a building, you have to draw it from one of the four decks of face-down cards. Also in these decks are action cards that let you bend the basic mechanics (by destroying your opponent’s buildings, for example, or defending against certain threats). The buildings themselves add victory points, increase resource production, defend against threats, and grant their owners other benefits.
Finally, the game is affected by “events.” When the resource die is rolled, an event die is also rolled. It may indicate an attack of raiders (who steal resources), a free resource to both players, or a draw from the final deck of the game, the “event cards.” These cards are almost always interesting and occasionally catastrophic.
Players may also field armies of knights (the mechanics of armies depend mostly on comparing each player’s knights’ total “strength”).
The game has ample complexity, with lots of room for entertaining emergent situations and challenges, but play itself is just plain fun. Strategy from game to game varies depending on the cards you happen to draw—and, of course, the luck of resource production.
I’m also pleased to say that the game keeps players moving along at a reasonably even pace. Oh, yes, my wife beat me every time, but never by so much that I ever gave up any hope of catching up (except maybe in the last turn or two). Unlike with the dreaded Monopoly, the game never devolved to an agonizing and unending pillaging by one player of another. Every turn, each player had some hope of advancing.
We’ve since acquired (but have not tired) the Catan Card Game Expansion Set
. It basically contains six different expansions that can be added to the game, giving each play a very different feel. I also noted from a quick scan of the rulebook that it supports a sort of tournament play where players can build their own decks. I’m unlikely to ever give that a serious try, but adding dragons or barbarians to the game seems just plain fun, and I can’t wait to give it a try.
September 20th, 2007
I got back from vacation less than a month ago, but I already miss it. I worked almost full time while on vacation, so it’s not the work I have to do now that bothers me; it’s the structure. In Vermont, effective “working from home,” I found time to do work whenever it didn’t interfere with my family life. Now, back in the office, I squeeze family and fun time in when it doesn’t interfere with the expected nine-to-five (or in my case seven-to-three) work schedule my company imposes on me.
One thing that’s missing is the casual gaming my wife and I—and other friends—did while we were in Vermont.
And one game that we’re not playing now is the Illuminati
card game (the deluxe edition, whatever that means) from Steve Jackson Games. I picked it up in Heroes Kingdom in St. Alban’s, VT, because I’ve enjoyed many an SJG product, because the theme (illuminated conspiracy) is great fun, and because the box promised the game would work for “2–6 players.”
Apart from not really working for two players, I have to say it’s a good game. But I’ll start with my quibble.
The box advertises a game for two to six players, but on the first page of the rules it warns that it’s best not to play with less than four. Three is marginal, at two you’re definitely missing something, and both are “not recommended” according to the rules. My wife and I found this to be completely true. I understand why they printed the box the way they did, but since one primary reason for our purchase was that the game was suitable for two players, I’m a bit miffed.
That said, we quite enjoyed the game. My wife beat my soundly four games out of four, we laughed at the cards and enjoyed the different feel the game has when you play different factions.
In fact, I think it’s the factions that really make the game. Depending on your randomly chosen faction, you have very different strengths and weaknesses, and each faction also has its own unique goal. (Except for the UFO faction, which gets to choose its goal from the list and keep that secret.) Thus, depending on your own faction and those of other players, each game is radically different—more different from game to game than Settlers of Catan I’d argue, despite the fact that Catan’s board layout changes every game.
The different factions wind up adding quite a bit of complexity to what is, what it starts, a fairly straightforward game to play. The turns go fast. But depending on your own goals, strengths, and strategy—and of course the happenstance of how the deck is shuffled—the convolution of a world fought over by illuminated conspiracy groups seems to unfold, with wit, on the table.
The rules suggest—and I’m convinced they’re right—that with four or five players the fun increases. One-on-one, the only goal is to win and frustrate your opponent. With more players, though, alliances can easily form (and of course just as easily break). Best of all, the game actively supports the possibility of multiple players winning simultaneously.
Alas, with just the two of us, we didn’t get to sample the real double-dealing and backstabbing of desperate alliances and bitter betrayal, but I hope to rope some gamer friends into a few games soon (maybe even this weekend), to see how it all plays out.
September 14th, 2007
I love watching my toddler play games, not just because she has so much fun but because she learns so much as she does it.
Because the games—the skills, the goals, the rules—are so simple, I can see that the pleasure she takes from playing derives at least in part from the achievement of new skills or proficiency. Oh, the pretending part—the stories, the imagination, the simulation of things she sees her parents do—are a big part of the fun, of course. She loves imagining that she’s on vacation or that she’s a cat.
But when she begins to master a new skill or grasps a new concept, she can’t contain her joy. She dances. She shrieks. She sings. She insists on getting everyone who will stand still long enough to watch her play her game.
Why does she approach these developmental activities in the form of games? Despite being an avid gamer, I haven’t tried to force the concept of game upon her. Instead, it seems to be a natural approach. She imposes a game approach on almost every learning opportunity. Even the (to her) arbitrary rules we make are “game-able.” If we insist that she keep her food on her plate, she’ll test the limits of the rule.
“Can I put it here?” she asks, placing her broccoli on the table.
“No.”
“Here?” The broccoli is on the washcloth we keep at the ready at all meals.
“No.”
“In my cup?”
“No.”
“Can I throw it on the floor?”
“No, just keep your food on your plate.”
She shoves the broccoli into her mouth and asks “Here?” Her eyes twinkle, because she’s found a “cheat” to the game. She’s not putting her broccoli in any forbidden place, but she’s also not complying with the order to put it on the plate.
She has won.
I’ve written before about games being the absolute best educational tools we have at our disposal. Watching S— play, I stand by that assertion. She learns more rapidly when playing than at any other time, partly because the game makes learning fun, but just as much because the learning, properly framed, makes the game fun.
I see this in my own pleasure in games. I like to learn the MMOs I play. Once I’ve learned how to play my character, I lose interest in repeatedly doing so in order to achieve an arbitrary goal (like equipment), although I may enjoy improving my play in PVP. When I’ve learned all I can, I will probaby try a different class . . . or a different game altogether. The only reason I’d stay is for social aspects or exploration and immersion.
That so many people are motivated to collect rare virtual pets in an MMO seems a bit odd to me, I have to admit. I enjoy collecting as much as anyone, and I recognize that any goal in an MMO is an arbitrary one. But the pleasure for me comes not from getting something (especially something not real), but from learning how.
Thus, although I’d like to figure out how to make potty training a game, I don’t want to do so with prizes. I’m averse to giving rewards (like stickers) for successful potty use, even though I hear that it can be helpful. I know rewards of any sort, even arbitrary ones, can be powerful motivators.
My aversion stems in part from a philosophical conviction that the best motivator to learn a skill is recognizing that the skill is its own reward. Also, I want the rules of the game to be self-contained. I don’t want to be an arbitrary prize-awarded and authority; I’d rather play the game with her, somehow. In the best games, achieving the conditions of victory as defined by the game is the reward, because getting there is what’s fun. Trophies and medals are all well and good, and prize money is even better. But I greatly fear becoming the arbiter of my daughter’s potty success.
I’d like her to play the game to win the game.
—
I don’t have any plans for a fifth “Toddler gaming” post, although I have no doubt that I’ll be writing again and again about S— and the games she plays in the coming weeks, months, and years. That said, if anyone has any topics related to Toddler gaming they don’t think I’ve covered, or any thoughts on the topics I have covered, I’d very much like to hear them. Post a comment and let me know what you think!
September 12th, 2007
In her games, my daughter loves rules.
One of the fundamental components of any game is rules. Without rules, you may have a fun activity, but you don’t have a proper game. That’s why we RPG geeks have (and gloat over) elaborate tomes of arcane rules addressing even the most improbable situations. Sitting around and telling a shared story may be fun, but most of us find it more fun with rules.
My brother and I used to make a game of shared storytelling on long car trips. Eschewing die rolling and combat tables, we nonetheless invented guidelines for whose turn in was to spin yarns about the brave Mercemer Brothers (the heroes of many of our tales, adolescent boys who foiled almost all the villains’ plots through the judicious use of M80s, which we somehow envisioned as the pinnacle of personal explosive devices). Of course, the storytelling could be surrendered voluntarily, but it had to be given up if one player exceeded five minutes or repeated an event without sufficient variation.
And understanding and exploiting rules grants a degree of pleasure itself, of course.
As I’ve already discussed, my two-year-old prefers games of “pretend,” as I suspect most two-year-olds do. These proto–roleplaying games may involve walking in circles around the first floor and calling it “going on vacation” or making sure that her toys are looking in a particular direction or “talking” to one another.
But already they’re starting to have rules.
Oh, I don’t pretend to understand her rules, but she’s got ‘em.
For instance, in a recent game of “follow me around the house,” S— gave me one of her plastic dinosaurs. “You have to hold it like this,” she said, grasping the one she reserved for herself by the tail and holding it as a sort of saurian pistol. I complied, and we completed two circuits of the house.
“Now hold it like this,” she said, switching her grip to its head. She started to lead me around again but caught me letting my arm hang at my side. “No, you have to hold it right!” I complied, and the game continued.
As an example of a non-roleplaying game, I recently found S— and her friend sitting on opposite arms of the sofa in the den, taking turns calling out the names of objects they could see.
“Wall!”
“Pillow!”
“Kitchen!”
“Farm set!”
“Arm!”
“Farm set!”The girls laughed and laughed, but their laughter increased when one of them shouted something out of turn or had to pause to think of something. They began giggling hardest when they started making up words completely. And if you saw them, you’d know that it’s the same sort of laughter that erupts from any player in a good-natured pick-up game when a challenge is missed.As I said, I don’t exactly know why she makes these rules. Is she simply asserting authority? Somehow, that doesn’t feel right. Instead, it feels as if she wants to really make a
game of an activity. Adding arbitrary challenges (holding the toy correctly) and mandating turn-taking adds fun to the fun.
Talking about emergent behavior in response to rules systems is always interesting, but at the moment I’m finding it even more interesting to watch the emergence of rules systems themselves.
September 11th, 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
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
(Vacation is over, as is my enormous, soul-sucking “day job” project, so I can finally sink my teeth into a few posts I’ve been looking forward to writing about for a while.)
Some good friends came to stay with us for a couple of nights while we vacationed in a cabin next to a small lake in Vermont in August. Hanging out with them really was a wonderful change of pace. They’re far more educated, sophisticated, and smart than many of the people we know locally, so we had the pleasure of carrying on serious, adult conversation and activities. (I don’t mean to disparage the friends we see more often, but they fulfill a different friendship niche.)
After my daughter went to bed, our friends expressed interest in trying a game. Looking through what we’d brought, we opted for the least geeky offering: Settlers Of Catan. Without the expansion, we couldn’t all play. My wife opted to knit and sit in as professional, equal-opportunity kibbitzer.
And then I started explaining the rules. I like to think I do a good job explaining rules. I work as a technical writer in my day job, so I’m no stranger to explaining technical specialized concepts to a non-specialized audience.
So I wasn’t prepared for the downright hostility. One player in particular hated everything she heard me say about the game. It sounded too complicated, too strategic (”It’s like chess!”), too competitive.
This woman is no fool. She’s a high-powered lawyer who has a ready grasp of any topic you can think of. She reads widely and achieves everything she sets out to get. She’s also extremely nice.
But as I realized that, I realized the root of her hostility. She didn’t think the game was too complicated, strategic, or competitive. She was too competitive. She liked explicitly non-competitive games but bridled at the possibility of a game she might lose.
She did not want to lose.
A little gentle ribbing on this point got us through the rules explanation and into play. And alas, she fared very poorly. She lost badly, even though I deliberately made a few bad strategic decisions that I knew would go in her favor.
But the friendly atmosphere, the good humor, and the inherent fun of the game won her over. She was the first to ask to play again (everyone was amenable), and even though she didn’t win that time, she wanted to play one more time.
Our three games kept us up till two in the morning, and even though we had trouble keeping our eyes open, we had a grand time.
So what did I learn? That a game can’t be appreciated without being played. That personal relationship skills come into play even before the board is set up.
And most importantly: that “non-gamers” may be non-gamers for want of opportunity and gentle introduction rather than because they wouldn’t like that game.
I have some other friends (somewhat more geeky but not by much) who I’ve been courting to play a roleplaying game (Buffy The Vampire Slayer
seems like a good choice, as they’re big fans of the show). I’ve been cautious and hesitant, not wanting to scare them away.
I think now it’s time to get over that. When they try it, they’ll love it.
August 27th, 2007
I didn’t manage to get a single post up while I was on vacation, in part because I wound up having to put in about six full days of day-job work while I was there. But while away, I did play a lot of great games, not one of them a computer or video game. I’ll be blogging about them and other game-related vacation things over the next few days, while I dig through my hundreds of e-mails and RSS feeds to see what I’ve been missing.
August 20th, 2007
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