Game journalist Doug Perry and his daughter Genevieve
Eight years into our coverage of the videogame industry, as the cumulative string conferences, demonstrations and parties blur together, it's often impossible to remember precisely when we met any one of our peers. So we'll just say that we've known former IGN Xbox editor Douglass C. Perry--currently working on an undisclosed new venture--for some time, and that the work that he and his colleagues did at IGN was invaluable in our development from videogame novices to, well, whatever we are nowadays.
In one of Perry's last pieces for IGN--a preview of the co-op mode in Ghost Recon Advanced Warfighter 2--we were taken with his interjections about the challenge of playing the game with his infant daughter on his lap. With this aspect of real life often going unmentioned in videogame writing, we emailed Perry to compliment him on doing so, whereupon we found out that his asides about his little girl had polarized IGN readers; some were gratified by the mentions, others detested them on the grounds that it interfered with their quest for more info about the game. Intrigued, we asked Perry to pen a essay specifically about the travails of the gamer dad. Here's what he wrote back:
I'd finished Guitar Hero II twice, once on easy and the second time on medium difficulty, when I realized I was on a serious rhythm run. Sometimes with Guitar Hero, you just get like that. One day you suck, the next, you're ripping everything to shreds. So I started my next run on Hard. I nailed three songs in a row and was onto my fourth. I wasn't thinking. I was doing; letting the fingers flow across the buttons, breathing slowly, adding tremolo extensions to everything. Then I heard that new sound; that piercing, familiar noise of my seven-month-old baby beginning to cry.
Should I quit or keep playing?
Playing Guitar Hero is different than other games. It's a sonic experience. When fighting the Kingpin in Spider-Man 3, for example, you don't need utter silence and complete concentration to hit the right keys at precision moments. No, with Kingpin, you must simply counter his every attack and hope the game doesn't freeze mid-move. With Guitar Hero, when someone comes in the room and asks a question, slightly distracting you from the upcoming licks, you may miss a note or two. When two people in the room start talking, or worse, start talking to you, keeping that razor-edge concentration becomes even more difficult. But when your daughter shrieks because she's tired or hungry, things accelerate. Two things happen. First, a jolt runs through your body: Child in danger! Rescue! Quick! The second reaction is less immediate. This voice says, "Wait! What kind of cry was that? Was that an 'I'm tired' cry? An 'I'm just rolling over' cry? Or an, "I'm hungry!' call?"
Most mothers would come running. Perhaps most grown fathers would too. I was playing Guitar Hero, on a fat roll, and didn't want to stop. I waited for the second cry. Nothing. I kept playing. But just as soon as I got back into it, the cries started again. This time, they didn't stop, so I did.
Playing games with a five-month-old baby is not a simple proposition. My wife and I decided not to hire a sitting service or nanny when Genevieve first arrived. It's just too expensive. Instead we took turns working from home. I drove to work Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and on Tuesday and Thursdays, I stayed home and took care of Genevieve--while working. I rarely played games in the day because my wife didn't want to expose our newborn to them too early in her mental development. But since I played games for a living, our house was filled with all the latest systems and games. And really, how could I not play games in an empty house during the day with nobody but the baby around?
My game playing lifestyle already had eaten into my marital relationship in the past; at one point, it was a cause for serious concern. After many debates, we agreed I wouldn't play on Saturdays. The first day of the weekend was dedicated to my wife, while Sunday was my day. On that day of rest, I ruled the TV and the game systems, joyfully, like a pig in mud. That settled some issues.
Over the years, my wife kept her cool when I'd say I had to work on a game during the weeknights, when in reality, perhaps I blurred the line a little bit. She'd ask, "Is this for work or for fun?" The smart answer? "For work." But I couldn't always use that trick. We already had a child, a very smart but autistic child who perhaps played too many games and may have been overly exposed to videogames. Miriam was therefore overly sensitive to exposing Genevieve to games, and for that matter, TV, claiming that too much TV and videogames too early in life would permanently affect her mental development. Clinical studies have shown the first five years of a child's life are the most important developmentally. My wife is a professor, so the only reasonable thing for me to do was agree. I didn't mind. I, too, wanted Genevieve to enjoy a good balanced life.
But what's realistic? I mean, should she never be exposed to the TV at all? How is it possible to not expose her to TV or games? What about games like LEGO Star Wars or Guitar Hero? There's no killing, be-heading or shooting in those. LEGO storm troopers explode into LEGO bits. The most violent thing you see in Guitar Hero is Johnny Punk Rocker smashing his guitar after a smoking gig. Videogames aren't bad for you. They're just...demanding, addicting, time-consuming. They grip your attention for hours. Ideally, I would like to sit down for four to five hours at a time to play. In reality, I rarely get that time. And I can't count the number of games I've played into the wee hours of the morning after "just one more try." So do I expose this kind of thing to my child at the expense of getting that five-star rating on hard in Guitar Hero II?
When my child was three and four months old, I could sit her on lap facing me, and she would be perfectly happy if I smiled or made a funny sound every so often while I sniped South American banditos in Ghost Recon Advanced Warfighter 2 or curb stomped alien scum in Gears of War. Now? She twists her neck in nearly supernatural ways to catch a glimpse of the TV. Or she simply leans backwards and watches upside down. You'd be surprised how strong little babies are.
There are several solutions. You can quit playing, divorce your wife, or abandon your family. None of those are good solutions. Or you dive into the world of sleep deprivation. That's what I've done. Now, I do late night sessions all the time. I give up hours of lovely, enjoyable sleep to support my "hobby." I wait until everyone else is asleep, turn on a console, and escape.
Life with a young one isn't worse than before. In my heart, I'm happy, and I'm fulfilled in an extraordinary way. My child is wonderful. My gaming lifestyle, however, has changed. It had to. Not entirely because of my wife's requests. But because babies, unlike games, can't be shut down or paused. Just like learning to clean diapers, interpreting the growing variety of baby cries, or adjusting to a less spontaneous and more child-centric life, I'm adapting to a new life of gaming--and sleeping a little less.
