What can we learn about raising children from a game that compels them to set off on a relentless quest for mythical creatures? To begin with, we can learn that it’s a lot more than a game. And then it can teach us a lot about boundaries, communication, and the wonders of technology.
By Sean O’Connor
It happened very quickly. Before I could say Pikachu, my son was organising events on Whatsapp, levelling up, and evolving his Carp into Gyrados (that’s pronounced ‘garridos‘, if you want any credibility at all.)
I was breathlessly told about a string of Pokéstops along the Sea Point promenade where there would be so many lures (“Um, what is a lure?”) that it would be criminal not to go there. Right now. As we sat down for supper on a weekday evening, the sun long down. ‘No,’ I said.
If your child is playing Pokémon Go, you’ll know what I’m talking about. The virtual reality game, where players battle each other in onscreen ‘gyms’ and capture creatures superimposed on their surroundings, some of them common, some of them rare, with names like Snorlax, Parasect, Kingler and Jolteon, has brought diverse people together in a quest unlike anything I’ve experienced, even by proxy.
The challenge to hold boundaries as a parent, and encourage and support your child in their chosen activities has come into sharp focus in my household, and probably thousands of others across the globe.
There have been many good things said about the game: that it gets people out, and gets them active, and engaging with each other. My son, after playing for just two months, has covered 126 km, either running or walking. You have to physically move to ‘evolve’ your Pokémon, and the app lets you know exactly how much distance is required, acting like a pedometer. He’s actually become fit!
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But there have been perils too. My son’s friend had his phone plucked from his hands as he roamed Cape Town’s Company Gardens on the weekend, oblivious to the people around him, his device held up in front of him like an offering.
This 13-year-old chased the thief, caused a scene, and got his phone back. He knew his mother would not buy him another. That he confronted a criminal on his own, forcefully, is not advisable. Or is it? I’m not sure.
This, incidentally, is the same young man who walked out of the house a few nights ago, unannounced, and down the hill into Cape Town, all the way to the Waterfront, a good place to catch Pokémon.
There have been stories of disconsolate parents, wondering where their children are, as they stumble into the darkness with only their screens to guide them. According to my son, it’s better to keep your phone in your pocket and wait until it alerts you that there are Pokémon near. ‘It’s safer that way,’ he says.
When discussing this with my ex-wife, and saying I was finding the demands difficult, she sagely advised that this was no different to anything else. Keep the boundaries, the rules, and the communication strong. I felt comforted in that.
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So when I asked my son, after typically scanty details were given about when and where the event was, and he said he can just Uber there because it’s his money, there is a line I have to draw, and a time to draw it. It’s about balance. Even though he says ‘it doesn’t count as computer time.’ It’s screen time, isn’t it? Things are changing.
I like the fact that kids are charging about in Kirstenbosch in the rain. I like that when I take the dogs to Newlands Forest, my son comes too – rivers, mountains and natural phenomena are places rich with Pokémon.
He now says he knows Kirstenbosch like the back of his hand, and years spent in the forest yield an advantage. It’s where I carried him in a babysack, when he was an infant. Little did I know what was coming, thirteen years later…
So I asked him what a good Poképarent should do. ‘Stay in touch Dad,’ he said. ‘And let me catch them.’ I ask him to check that his phone is charged, so that I can call and find out where he is. My ex is right, and so is he. It’s about communication.
And as the parent of a teenager, I have to let him go, bit by bit, and let him grow, and learn things by himself. He’s good at it. It’s something that makes him happy. And I like seeing him that way.
- Sean O’Connor is a happily re-singled parent of three, who runs his own business, producing theatre in the workplace, in communities, and in public spaces. He has written textbooks and DJ’d weddings, and looks forward to DJ’ing funerals someday too. He lives in Observatory, Cape Town, with his dogs Seigfried and Milo, and believes that the quality of his community impacts directly on the quality of his life. Which, he feels privileged to say, is good.
- This article first appeared on the Change Exchange, an online platform by BrightRock, provider of the first-ever life insurance that changes as your life changes. The opinions expressed in this piece are the writer’s own and don’t necessarily reflect the views of BrightRock.
