Clad in Mickey Mouse pajamas, the barefoot, woolly-haired toddler rhythmically curled his toes into the foam rug.  With his head turned slightly to the side, he took another long pull from his sippy cup, so he could keep at least one of his large brown eyes focused on the television. I let his question hang in the air until he looked away from the television and lowered his cup, focusing on me.

“You’re dead, Daddy?” He repeated softly.

I blew a stream of air between pursed lips as I turned the warm controller over in my slightly clammy hands. I’d killed four Germans and revived a teammate, before succumbing to a barrage of enemy fire, but you can’t expect a toddler to comprehend the complexities of war.

In the intervening years, he’d gone from being a satisfied observer to wanting to play himself. While I could initially placate him by giving him a beat-up, non-functioning Xbox 360 controller, this trick only lasted so long. When I told him he was playing, he’d look disbelievingly at my controller, which had an “X” lit up at the center of it and his, which never seemed to do the same thing.

After he’d come home from school asking to play Fortnite and Minecraft, I made an honest effort to introduce him to gaming. I started with the classics like the original Super Mario Bros. and Mario Kart Wii. While he never really latched on to Super Mario Bros, Mario Kart Wii was definitely his, ahem, speed. He has an honest love of cars and trains that makes games like Forza, Danger Zone, Trackmania, and Mario Kart his cup of tea. Watching him try to figure out games like Overcooked or Katamari Damacy Reroll was entertaining.

One thing I consciously find myself doing is trying to balance his desire to quit a game when he’s frustrated with losing and with helping him through something. I wonder if I had the same issues as a kid with Mario, as I was about his age. It’s a tough balancing act, but it’ll be worth it, if I can steel his will against the inevitable and epic a** whoopings I will hand down when he’s older and a more competitive player.

For now, as a five-year-old, his commentary on my gaming skills, while more nuanced, has made him decidedly less cute. During an early Star Wars Jedi: Fallen Order session, he piped up. “Daddy, why do you keep dying?” I opened my mouth to reply, but before I could, he provided his own answer, “I think you’re not very good at this game.” I closed my mouth as he slid off the arm of the sofa chair to go look for his sister, who he called before even exiting the office.

Recently, he saw me playing Ace Combat 7 and asked to play. Generally, with something as complicated as Fallen Order, I say no, but with Ace Combat 7, I knew I could give him the controller and put the game in “Free Flight” mode, which would allow him to get used to the controls without having to worry about being assailed by the Erusean military. I loaded up the game and plunked down on the ottoman near him. I mindlessly plucked at my guitar while answering his rapid questions about the game: How do I shoot, how do I turn, what happens if I crash into the water?

“You crash. Obviously.” I focused more intently on the guitar, turning on the mini amp and putting one of the headphones into my ear, fairly confident in his grasp of the controls.

My flippant answer, while not likely to win me a parenting award, doesn’t warrant the amount schaden that ensued. Fairly adept at understanding U.I., I recall him saying something about not wanted to play that level anymore. It took my brain too long to comprehend what he said and as I looked up and at the television, I saw that he’d started the campaign over. I hadn’t finished it. 19 hours of gameplay, 15 missions in out of 20 and he’d erased it in seconds. My eyes widened.

He put the controller down. He wasn’t concerned about me. There was an overly long cinematic that started the game. Too long for his taste, he stood, bored of the opening.  He stalked off to find something to do, again, leaving me silent. On the plus side, I do get to keep my planes, despite having to start the missions over from scratch.

A few days later, he watched me playing Fallen Order again. It was late game. I jumped and rolled around the screen. I sent squads of troopers off platforms and easily dispatched a horde of robots with a newly minted double-bladed saber that disconnected into two sabers. He was elated.

“Whoa, Daddy, you’re really good at this. You can play this game any time you want!” That doesn’t give me 19 hours of my life back, but it was damn close.

What about you? Do you game with your kids and if so, how did you get them started?

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