Island Packet — I’ve never been one to equate childhood exposure to guns/video games with an eventual life of violence; I grew up splitting my time among G.I. Joe, pro wrestling and “Double Dragon II” on the NES, which is why I couldn’t talk to a girl without sweating like a horse until the age of 27, yet I still turned out to be a freaky hippie who has never, to this day, made up reasons to invade another country or even hit another human, although I reserve that particular right if I ever encounter any of the New Kids on the Block, Kid Rock or anyone who appears on cable with the job title of “commentator.”
But when we had the Little Man, we made a plan to try to block him from knowing that video games existed for as long as possible, much like we’re doing with “The Hills,” Burger King and George W. Bush. This is, of course, futile. Already he’s got a little friend who shows up at the house carrying a video game four times a day, asks us if we have PlayStation four times a day, and when we respond in the negative four times a day, stares at us blankly like we just tried to teach him unified string theory through interpretive dance, four times a day.
But there’s a saying about the best-laid plans for a reason, and my son arrived home last weekend to find his dad and some friends engaged in a fierce PlayStation 3 game titled “Soul Calibur.” This was big, big news to my boy’s sponge-brain, as Dad is not a video-game guy, the last game he played with any regularity being Super Mario Bros. 3 in 1993, though, to be fair, Dad rocked Super Mario Bros. 3’s face off.