The Video Game Generation Gap, by Paul Shirley

The Video Game Generation Gap, by Paul Shirley

On the day after Christmas, my brother Dan and I braved a wintry Kansas day in search of three controllers and a game for the Wii that I had been given for my birthday just three days earlier.

Our first stop: the neighborhood Target, where we see dozens of the distinctive red case that holds New Super Mario Brothers, but, alas, no controllers. We assume that we’ll have the chance to buy the game anywhere and leave it in the rack. We move on to the Wal-Mart in my area, a place I go only under the most dire of circumstances, and only when my mood is bubbly enough to counter the immediate depression that comes with witnessing a pair of malnourished children dangle from a shopping cart while their mother debates whether she should spend the money she earned at her job as a “Sandwich Artist” on TV dinners or TV shows.

Wal-Mart has neither the game nor the controllers, a fact that my brother radios to me as I stand in line at a nearby GameStop, where a Buy 2 Used Games, Get 1 Used Game Free special has families lined up 13 deep to buy the not-so-latest Grand Theft Auto, camped out like GameStop is a soup kitchen and the stock market has just crashed

GameStop has controllers, but no game. I buy three of the former.

Dan and I leap back into the car, now aware that Target’s hold on the market for New Super Mario Brothers was likely a fleeting one. We race back to the red behemoth and Dan drops me at the door. I speed-walk past a man who I irrationally assume is going to beat me to the last copy. I rush around the corner of the electronics desk … and find the game. I am jubilant.

Dan and I rush home, where we unpack the game and the controllers, summon our brother Matt, and dive into a made up world of moving mushrooms and woefully inept turtles.

And it is good.

On the birthday for which I was given the machine that would cause 1/3 of my family to race around a suburbanly sprawling section of Kansas City in search of accessories for that machine, I turned 32.

I state my age not because I want to drive home a point about the hold video games have on my life at age 32. Video games have almost no hold on my life – they exist only in the periphery. I play them only when my brothers are home, or when I can convince a friend to join me in a Guitar Hero bout.

I state my age to make the case that the behavior displayed by my brother Dan and I is actually fairly standard for a 32-year-old in late 2009. And, further, to note how very bizarre that is, at least when compared to 32-year-olds of recent history.

When my father was 32, he was busy getting married and, well, I guess I don’t know much about what else my father was doing at 32, other than that he was living in California and that he and my mother were going camping a lot. (At least, there are a bunch of pictures of them going camping.) But, based on my knowledge of my father’s personality, it is safe to say that he would now think me insane if he knew I was spending any part of the day after Christmas pursuing hand/eye entertainment.

However, when I’m his age, I will find it perfectly normal if my reasonably intelligent, mostly well-rounded son takes three hours to search out the means for his brothers and he to spend part of a day controlling pixellated Italians as they search for a mythical princess on a television screen.

Whether that’s good or bad, I don’t know. (My gut reaction: bad. But I’ll save my commentary on the possible ills of video games for another day.) I only know that video games have become the norm. And that they’ll probably stay the norm for a long time.

The more interesting question – and one I pondered long and hard while in the Game Stop watching a teenager in front of me call home to ask permission to buy a used memory card for his PS2 – is this: What have video games replaced? What was my father doing in 1974 that I am not doing now? Was he sleeping more? Drinking more? Playing more pool? Poker?

Granted, at 32, my father was newly-married, and I am not. But some of my most video game-mad friends are married. I don’t think my father was reading more than I do now. And it doesn’t seem – from my knowledge of the situation – that he and my mother were doing more carousing than I.

Was there a cosmic shift that no one told me about, and there are now more hours in the day? Were my parents active in the community, doing charity work and hosting church dinners?

Did my father simply do less than I do now?

Of similar interest is the question of the poor folk at Game Stop. “Poor” because they don’t have very much money. But also “poor” in the sense of naïve and unsuspecting. The similarities between those people and patrons in a (choose from:) liquor store, casino, or line at the gas station Lotto machine, were overwhelming. The same dull look. The same scrounge for cash.

But cash all the same. That money is coming from somewhere. And it’s not limitless. Meaning that, if it is being spent on video games, it isn’t being spent on something else. What is it replacing? Food? Booze? Trips to the movies?

I’m not sure I can answer those questions, at least not with any certainty. What I can do is come to a decidedly depressing conclusion that answers all of the questions I’ve raised.

Are you ready? Because it isn’t very nice. It is this:

Life was better before.

Because what are video games, if not the closest we’ve come to a substitution for real life? People play video games to keep from thinking about their lives. And they come up with the money to do so however they can. Kind of like drug addicts.

The above is not an indictment of video games as a form of entertainment. Several nights ago, after Dan had left town, Matt and I joined our friend Jens for a communal rush through several levels of the Mario Brothers game for which I had looked with such persistence. We talked, we laughed, we poked fun of one another. Anything more social and we’d have been involved in a mega-wrong way threesome.

Video games are not the problem. Life is the problem. Or rather, life today is the problem. I’m afraid that people are less happy now than they were 30 years ago. And, video games – like television, cocaine, and soma – are feeble attempts to allieviate that unhappiness.

Our only salvation is not the obvious one. It is not to give up video games. Because that ain’t happening – the New Super Mario Brothers is simply too fun.

There’s moderation as a solution, of course. But I don’t know that I’m going to convince anyone who was at the Roeland Park GameStop to moderate his video game intake. As with recycling, personal fitness and dampening one’s intake of pornography, the only solution I can see is an individual one. I can only worry about myself and how I deal with the impact of video games on my own life.

With that in mind, I make the following prayer:

Dear Gods of Electronic Fun,

I hope that, if I make it to my father’s age, and if I have a son who lives to be 32, I will be able to laugh about the ridiculous things we do in pursuit of our own entertainment.

But I hope that, when we’re doing that laughing, we’re on a camping trip.

(With a generator, a TV, and a Nintendo Wii9, so we can play Tecmo Super-Mega-Footballsport.)