More Nephew Blogging

Three year old Daniel (see photo from yesterday, below) is now convinced I'm a total idiot. I stopped in to see the boys yesterday, and he immediately ropes me into watching him play his new video game. ("You want to watch me play Spyro. All by myself. You want to watch me play all day. Right?")

This is an elaborate ritual, where he tells me how to dress ("You have to take your shoes off now."), where to sit ("No, sit here, by me"), and when to watch. He puts in the disc, informing me "this one takes a while" to load. Technical advice in a three-year-old's lisp is very difficult to take with a straight face.

So he starts to play. I try to appear suitably impressed as he maneuvers the animated dragon around the screen, scorching sheep which then inexplicably turn into butterflies and/or jewels. He gets up to the nasty looking armored thug-type guy then suddenly puts down the controls. "You do it," he says.

Huh?

The kid set me up. I've got to admit here that I haven't played a video game since Mortal Kombat. The first one. I mean, hey, when I've got a free night there are always half a dozen movies I've been meaning to see, or something less fun like bills to pay. So I'm utterly out of practice.

I pick up the pad and flick a few buttons experimentally. My second try, I get the dragon to breathe a little fire. Then fall off the platform thingy he's standing on. Fortunately, the dragon flies. "No! Don't do that!" Daniel yells. Ooookaaay. So I manage to jump the dragon back up to face the bad guy, and I ask what move would work best. Daniel doesn't appear to know. He just says something nonspecific about "getting" him in a very authoritative voice, as if he's giving me step-by-step instructions or something. I run the dragon toward the bad guy, trying to knock him off the edge, breathe fire, whatever. I nearly get smashed by a mace, but I manage to duck. I look over at Daniel. The kid's got his hands over his eyes and seems to by trying to bury his head into the pillow. I reassure him that the dragon's okay, I didn't kill Spyro. I offer to try again. He yanks the control away and sets it down, announcing he's going to go get his dad.

At the door, he pauses and looks at me suspiciously. "Don't touch the buttons," he says. "I am playing it myself."