My father was a yard man. That was his thing. Every bit of free time he had he spent working in our yard. It was his sanctuary. He’d mow the grass twice a week, water the yard every other day, and the result: a well manicured, deep green Bermuda carpet, was the envy of many a homeowner in our neighborhood. We were allowed to play in the yard, but for things that could potentially harm the grass (like tackle the man), we had to go elsewhere.
My son’s father is a gamer, not a yard man. A good bit of my free time is spent in front of a computer, not a yard. Our yard has patches of dirt littered throughout it, and in many places more weeds than grass. It is the envy of no one; the eyesore of many. My son doesn’t seem to mind though. He enjoys taking his Nerf sword and beheading the weed stalk monsters every chance he gets.
What I wonder is this: Did I in some way rebel against my father’s passion? And in this very same way will my son do the same thing with me? I really have no clue, but this unsettling idea has crept up in my mind on several occasions. Maybe my son will turn into a yard man himself.
Future father: [opening the back door] Hey buddy, come on in and play some LotRO with your old man.
Future son: Ah, gee Dad. Not right now. I’m just getting ready to edge the grass. And then I’ll need to fertilize.
Future father: Don’t you want to grab your champion and run Stand at Amon Sul with me? For old time’s sake?
Future son: Is that an offensive or defensive skirmish?
Future father: Offensive, but we could run a defensive one if you’d prefer.
Future son: What’s the point? I’m already at level cap, and I’d just as soon wait until Fall of Sauron comes out. Anyway, they say it’s going to rain tomorrow. I’d better get this yard fertilized.
Future father: You’re not my son. I’m taking away your yard privileges.
Future son: Whatever Dad.
I certainly hope this is not the way things play out. I’m very much looking forward to having a gaming buddy in the years to come.