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People who weren't kids in the 80s may have heard of Nintendo, but they usually don't fully understand how ubiquitous the NES was, and what a fundamental component of our childhood the system and its software became.  I think that part of the reason that so many of today's thirty-somethings are such avid gamers is that Nintendo showed us as kids how great videogames could be, and its universality cemented gaming as part of our generational identity.

With my kids and Wii, I can see it happening again.  It's quickly becoming a cultural framework for their generation, and once we get to the point where every household that wants a Wii has one (and how long might that still be?) I think Nintendo may again achieve the universality they enjoyed in the 80s, when you didn't play videogames, you played Nintendo.

Case in point: there's a new building in our neighborhood that has a somewhat ostentatious vertical blue stripe that glows at night.  (Geeks already know where this is going).  Ever since the stripe was added, every time we walk by the building at night, 5-year-old Nemo says, "Look papa, that building has an update!"   The other night he added, "or maybe it got a message from one of its friends."

The coolest thing about this is that because the best software franchises of my generation are still here thrilling his generation, that cultural framework is something that I can share with my son, instead of scratching my head at his interests in bewilderment as parents are often stuck doing.  For example, Nemo's preschool is housed in a church that has recently finished a significant organ transplant (isn't that what they call that?).  As I was taking him into school a few weeks ago, we could hear some seriously forté, slightly ominous, slow-paced organ music coming from behind a large double door at the top of some stairs.  This immediately triggered a game memory for both of us, and I said, "Hey Nemo, I wonder if that's Ganondorf playing the organ behind that door."

Now, while some may consider it inadvisable for a parent to intentionally blur that critical fantasy/reality line in a young boy's mind, the fact is that when kids are pretending, they know what they're doing, and they can have very firm ideas about what's real and what's not.  As if to prove my point, Nemo laughed and said, "Naw, it's probably just an old lady." 

I'm off to Texas this sunday for a whirlwind Texas Library Gaming Roadshow, as this completely incredible flyer produced by the South Texas Library System details.  Along with Erin Helmrich, I'll be doing workshops in Edinburg, Austin, and San Antonio.  I'm particularly excited to visit Austin during the start of bat season!

This will be my third trip to Texas in the past year; those Texas consortia are gung-ho for gaming!  It should be a very fun trip and I'm looking forward to meeting our hosts and our attendees.

Stay tuned for updates… 

Like most homes that house both a Nintendo DS and an (almost) elementary schooler, we are currently in the grip of a fresh wave of Pokémania.  Both Nemo and I had played Pokémon before, although we hadn't really gotten truly hooked.  Nemo had come to several Pokémon tournaments though, where he had made friends with a 12-year old Pokéfreak who gave him a Level 41 Wailord (she was going to give him an extra Lugia, but you have to have finished the game to accept legendary Pokémon in trades). The Wailord quickly became Nemo's first prized digital possession, and he was delighted every time it actually followed his commands (higher level Pokémon won't lower themselves to obey beginning trainers).

I knew we would eventually buy Pokémon Diamond or Pearl, the first true Pokémon titles for DS (Trozei, Mystery Dungeon, and Rangers being mere spinoffs), and I had lingered over them at Meijer last week, but I wasn't really feeling that drop-everything-and-acquire-it-now feeling until we ran into one of my Pokémon regulars and his dad at Dairy Queen.  I asked him if he had Diamond or Pearl yet, and it turned out that he had Diamond, and his Dad has Pearl, and they'd been playing them together.

"I'm actually having a bit of a problem with it," his dad admitted.  "I think I'm more into it than he is.  I've logged 28 hours so far…"  We talked about the upcoming Pokémon Battle Revolution for Wii, and I complimented him on his Pokémon shirt… these guys are hardcore.  After they left, I immediately turned to my wife and said "Can we go get Pokémon Diamond and Pearl RIGHT NOW?"  She frowned, because (as I soon determined) she was planning on getting them for us the next day while Nemo was at school.

So, we've been playing quite a bit the past few days.  Of course, it's awesome.  The developers (Game Freak) really know what they're doing by now, and everything is well tuned, the new Pokémon are great, and every addition is well thought-out.  What's really most remarkable about the entire Pokémon franchise is how relentlessly positive it is, morally, ethically, and er, attitudinally?  Everybody in the Pokéworld, even the bad guys, are so nice, and treat each other and their weird little pets so well.

Also, the recasting of the coming of age story that is central to all Pokémon games, delivered to these hungry little minds without a whiff of subtlety or irony, where they just tell you straight out that you will grow as a trainer, and as a person, as you progress through your quest (especially if you talk to everyone and treat your Pokémon kindly).  Pokémon is a significant component of our youth culture; these kids are learning a lot about how they want to live their lives from these games.  I've seen it in the sportsmanship and easy cameradie that comes from teens at Super Smash Bros. tourneys; these kids were raised on Pokémon, and they didn't forget the lessons they learned in Johto or Hoenn.

Parents may see Pokémon as a strange, addicting obsession that sucks their children in to a vortex of merchandise and obscure terminology, and if they don't understand the Pokéworld themselves, they can be concerned or dismissive.  Leaving aside the bonding that they're missing out on by leaving the fun to their kids, at least it beats the crap out of Power Rangers.

All that said, that's the digression.  Here's the story I actually wanted to tell.  Our 18-month-old, Rocket, has been climbing up onto tables lately, and we've been trying to teach her that it's not allowed.  Nemo climbed up onto the play table and broke out the nana-nana-boo-boo routine.

"Nemo," I said, "don't taunt your sister."

"For what reason?" he asked.  At least we're out of the why phase, sort of.

Without really thinking, I replied, "Because she'll fly into a blind rage and will only be able to use attack moves for the next 2-4 turns."

"Oh."