A Modest Proposal

Daniel wants a DS, and he knows how to get it:  by asking for it at random intervals, along with some specialized sales pitch outlining cases where it can be especially useful, and then exploding in histrionic, shrill, near-operatic mourning with stomping and tears-ex-machina when he is inevitably told we're not getting one for him.

What is a DS?

Probably most people know what it is.  I happen not to know, but I've gotten plenty of descriptions, all from the same expert source.  Apparently, it's the 21st-century equivalent of a (Nintendo) Game Boy, only so much better.  It has been explained to me many times why it is so import, but Dad is old and forgets crucial things.  One thing I do know:  Jacob has one.  But I'm not sure which Jacob.  There are three of them in our boys' lives now.  But one of them has it, and it's the greatest thing ever.  And I think it probably costs something like a hundred dollars or more.

Tonight I learned of a very specific scenario in which a DS would be indispensable:  on nights when Daniel has finished his math homework and there's nothing else to do.  This nothingness is compounded by the fact that our "special" deal with cable TV is scheduled to expire in the next few months.  Cable played a little game with us not unlike the games that a heroin dealer might play to hook newbies onto his "product" in pursuit of a growing clientele:  somehow Internet-plus-phone, which is all we ever wanted, came cheaper if we went for the vile Triple Play of Internet-plus-phone-plus-cable-TV, for six months.  I counted the minutes until the six month "introduction" should run out, and we'd be happily paying more and getting less -which is really more, in this instance.  I was savoring the thought of never having The Cartoon Network in our world again, but no - the first "introductory" special was followed by a second one, for another six months, for slightly more money.  Basically, we sold out, like so many electronic harlots, accepting more bad entertainment in exchange for a lower rate.  But this time, Amy had the good sense to lock away pretty-much all stations except Disney.  So we see a lot of "Dog with a Blog" and "Ant Farm" and "Jessie," and one could do much, much worse.  The only one that's too cloying for my patience is "Good Luck, Charlie."

But the "special" is ending soon, and Daniel is planning ahead for a time when we won't be able to watch talking dogs and neurotic nannies and annoying made-for-TV families.  And when that dreaded time comes, he wants to be able to default over to Plan B.  The Math-is-done-and-there's-nothing-left-to-do scenario was the very first "conversation" that Daniel and I had this evening, some seconds after I walked out the door.  He saw the look of exhaustion on my face as soon as he mentioned a "DS," and he interjected, "Let me finish."  Daniel understood that if only he got the chance to spell out this frightful scenario where there's nothing in the world left to do but play Lego Star Wars on a DS screen, then surely I'd see that we can't live without this technology.  Of course, I don't really understand why any Lego-related entertainment doesn't require children to manipulate real, physical, plastic, made-in-China Legos.  It's like watching someone play Monopoly on TV...

Daniel had one final clincher, to close the DS deal tonight:  if he gets a DS, he'll just be playing Lego Star Wars on a small screen, rather than using XBox to play it on the (gigantic, awful) TV screen.  At that point, I told him I'd rather he play games on a big screen rather than a small one, to avoid straining his eyesight.  He didn't see this one coming.

Tonight, Daniel screamed almost as loud, and almost as ritualistically,when he discovered that I had given Madeleine the last pick in the pickle jar.  I quietly mentioned to Amy, encoding the idea in roundabout speech patterns to go over Daniel's head, that surely we could redeem the injustice of Madeleine getting the last pickle by purchasing a DS for Daniel.  Somehow, I think if he thought that idea might fly, he probably would have introduced it on his own, turning the tragedy of pickle-deprivation into the happy ending of a boy receiving a much-deserved video game thingy, for those long nights in the near future when Daniel will have entirely finished his homework and there's not a thing to do in our old shack otherwise, aside from staring at a blank, lifeless screen where sassy, Internet-savvy dogs once filled our otherwise-somber evenings.

(October 9, 2013)