Danger Monkey, age 8: “Hey let’s play Rock, Paper, Scissors, Lizard, Spock. You have to start at level one.”
Me: “So you turned it into an RPG?”
DM: “You are a Level One Rock. Your next upgrade is to meteor, where you get a bonus attack.”
Me: “These are tears of joy, son.”
Geeky Dad is so proud.
I don’t usually buy into the ego trap of complaining about “kids these days,” but I do think it’s a tangible loss that kids just don’t play outside as much anymore. School is great and, sure, lessons and play dates and indoor games are all good. But there is no replacement for the long hours of completely un-structured play I got to enjoy as a child. Kids are designed to get dirty and run and fall and get hurt and get scabs on your knees and stung by things and poison ivy and climb things and explore and make up games and stretch their legs and minds.
Little Miss Thing, age 5: “I like your new car. It’s cleaner than your old car.”
Me: “Maybe he didn’t have kids.”
LMT: “Are you going to wreck this one too?”
Me: “No, I want to keep it a long time. Maybe in ten years you can learn to drive using this car.”
LMT: “I already know how to drive. I can drive whenever I want.”
Me: (slow blink)
Wonderful Wife: “I’m going to start hiding our car keys.”