Like Frankenstein's Gamer

As my children have gotten older, they've become increasingly more computer game savvy. My daughter, like me, enjoys sitting and playing Civilization III for hours on end. Both my kids fight over the use of the Gameboy, and they even act civilized toward one another long enough to make it through missions of Lego Star Wars together. It's truly a feat to behold when they actually work together to achieve a common goal.

If only something like that would happen to the living room floor.

I digress, however! My daughter--my eight-year-old daughter--knows just enough about Civ III to be dangerous. She knows the mechanics, but the finer aspects of the strategy are still eluding her. For instance, she'll start a war with a neighboring civilization, but not have enough soldiers to complete the overall invasion and conquest of said civilization. It's something that, I assume, she will develop and learn to appreciate over time.

As much as she enjoys playing the game, she also enjoys watching it. This entails her standing at my right shoulder, staring at the screen.

Since I'm still in an emotional trough--though it's big enough now to be a cellar, I assume--I've been cranking through some Civ III for a the better part of a week and a half now. For some reason, it's a little bit cathartic to sit and play and watch the pixels take out my frustrations on my neighbors. France, I have my eyes upon you...

Sunday night, after an afternoon spate of cleaning and organization that left our house slightly less chaotic but much better smelling, while I dinner was cooking and while my wife and I both were winding down from the day, I popped in the Civ III disk and started playing.

My daughter came in and took up her usual place at my right elbow, watching. Except, the problem is, she's an eight-year-old girl, and so her mouth never. stops. making noise.

(Before anyone gets bent out of shape, the five-year-old boy only falls silent long enough to swallow his food and to sleep.)

And so here she is, going to town, telling me what I should be doing in the game. "Oh, you should irrigate there!" "Are you going to fight them?" "You should research gunpowder, it gives you musketmen." "Oh, oh, you definitely need to research and build Sun Tzu's Art of War!"

And on. And on. And on.

Being that I've been married for ten years, I'm fairly good at tuning out female voices. However, when it's one long string of syllables mashed together at such a rate and quantity that it's impossible to decipher where one word or thought ends and the other begins, the task of tuning someone out becomes a lot less easy. My last nerve was being poked and prodded and trod upon verbally to the point where I thought I was going to snap.

However, as much as I wanted to turn and scream "SHUT THE FUCK UP!", some part of my subconscious said, "Hey, Father of the Year, maybe take a moment and tell her why you're doing what you're doing, so that she can learn. Also, it's not cool to scream 'Shut the fuck up' in an eight-year-old's face."

Sage advice, that.

And so, what began as an exercise in frustration and annoyance turned into a lesson in how to play Civ III for her, and a lesson in patience and tolerance for me.

I'll take my award now.