Gettin' Schooled!

"Ok, Pops, you ready to play?"

I nervously thumbed the controller in my hand, absently wondering what had happened to the good old days of joysticks. Seventeen buttons, two paddles, four combination buttons, and a dozen other things sticking off it, that I was fairly sure might demolish the space station if I hit the wrong one, silently mocked me with inanimate smugness. Shit, maybe if I just moved one paddle and hit "A" really fast I'd be okay . . .

"Yea, I guess. Let's . . . "

BANG!

"You're dead."

"What? How the hell did that happen?" I cried, looking from the controller to the screen. My character was awash in red and laying on the ground with no skull. "No fair, I wasn't ready! Let's try again."

"Okay." He hit a quick combination of buttons and levers on his controller and I began to wonder if my son was working a second career as a safe-cracker or something, his hands moved so quickly. In moments, my character was back on screen, armed, and ready to do some serious ass-kicking!

"Ready?" The Boy asked.

"Yea, I'm good," I said, biting the inside of my lip in concentration, fingers flexing on the controller as I prepped for battle.

"You sure?"

"Yes, let's . . ."

BANG!

"Dead again, Pops!"

"What? No! What the hell? This thing is broken!" I waved the uncooperative controller in the air, letting out a string of invectives The Wife would scream over if she heard me using them in front of The Boy.

"No, it's not, but I'll switch with you if you want." He handed over the magic controller he'd been using and I knew I had him this time. His fingers flew once more and I waited only long enough for my character to appear on screen before I started flicking controls and buttons wildly. No waiting for him this time, I'd get the jump on him! Let's see how he . . .

BANG!

"Three for three! You suck at this, Dad!"

"You're cheating! Let's do it again . . ."

BANG!

"Damn it! Once . . ."

BANG!

"Arrrgh! Stop going so . . ."

BANG!

"Wait, I wasn't . . ."

BANG!

"No, I . . "

BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!

"Are we done yet?" he asked, flipping another page in his book as he absently worked the accursed controller with one free hand. He yawned as I wiped sweat from my eyes, trying to catch my breath from jumping all over the room, seeking some type of position or action that would let me survive more than seven seconds.

"What? No, we're not . . ."

BANG!

I threw the controller on the couch and glared at him. "I can ground you, you know!" I said.

"Yea, but if you did you'd have to tell Mom why."

I grumbled something not repeatable in polite society under my breath and stormed up the stairs. The Wife sat on the couch, flipping through channels on the idiot box. "How'd the game go?" she asked.

"I had to teach the boy a lesson about working it old school, " I told her with a wink. "Showed him that he shouldn't try messing with the Old Man!"

"He died thirty-seven times!" The Boy's voice wafted soflty up the stairs and I growled. The Wife smiled, not taking her eyes off the TV.

"You suck," she said.

"I hate both of you, you know!" I yelled as I stomped into my office and played solitaire on my laptop.

I lost, of course.

Later!