Gamer infinite

If you are ever around my siblings and me there is a good chance you will hear an obscure reference to a video game. This past weekend, my family visited my sister Grace (who is a first-year at Duke) and me, and in many of our conversations, we discussed the newly released video game, “Bioshock Infinite.” My brother Peter, a junior in high school, had already completed the game, and Grace and I jealously asked for details about the gameplay and narrative. Friends who witnessed these moments of explosive obsession found them endearingly awkward. I am never quite sure why others find our penchant for gaming odd. Maybe we defy the stereotypes of what a gamer looks like. Or maybe the subject seems cultish, eccentric and isolating. Perhaps it is because gaming itself is an unassailable hobby for those who are not hooked.

My siblings and I were raised by parents who piqued, but also regulated, our interest in video games. They allowed us to play them but limited the time we spent. Quite often we resembled addicts, sleeping at four in the morning and rising at noon to play them again. We grew up playing a range of genres, but we far and away loved games that provoked, challenged and aggrandized an otherwise mindless activity. We explored the “King’s Quest” series, investigated various Nancy Drew mysteries, led legions in “Rise of Nations,” reenacted battles in “Call of Duty” and swung across the dunes in “Prince of Persia.” To us, a great narrative was always better than the gameplay itself.

Many people criticized the time we spent playing video games. It seemed like a waste of time—staring for hours at a screen in an activity that seemingly produced no good result. At times, we resembled a trio of automatons, fingers pounding in a hypnotized rhythm as we attempted to accomplish some intangible task. The idealized childhood is the one spent outside, with books or involved in little league sports. That which seemed healthy seemed right.

As generations transition, there is an omnipresent worry that a fangled innovation will wrench apart the assembly of an orderly society. At one time it was obscene literature, and accusations of moral decrepitude have since appeared in movies, music, television and now video games. Older generations feared that hours spent immersing oneself in media would rot the mind and corrupt the spirit. There was a time when movies were the accused instigators of premature sexuality. All too often now, video games are the scapegoat cause of mass murderers. Academics tell us that individuals who spend hours shooting soldiers become desensitized to shooting real people. We are told that video games are addicting and destructive.

These accusations are laced with paternalism, and they unabashedly assume causation instead of correlation. Growing up, I rarely played video games by myself. In playing with others I developed relationships, learned the importance of teamwork and discovered how to politely compete with others. These games were an addition to the playground, another venue for me to acquire the sociological lessons embedded in human interaction. I played imaginary games outside, I read a lot of books and I had after-school activities to occupy time. But I also played video games, and I always had a hard time distinguishing the difference between games on a computer and games on the playground.

Perhaps I sound like a rebellious teenager unleashing his long-harbored resentments of being told what to do. Maybe I also sound like an ivory academic, citing the sociological implications of video games, burdened by the hegemony of developmental psychology and touting neo-liberal progressivism for its own sake. None of these are my aim. Instead, I am seeking a paradigm shift, a shift in the perception of video games. I resent those who jump to the conclusion that video games are reserved for the anti-social, unambitious and lazy. Video games deserve to be vaulted to a place of cultural prominence. Yes, like all mediums of art, video games have seedy and trashy offshoots. But there also exist classics, genres and seminal works. Why are film, literature and music studied and celebrated fields, while video games are cast as a hedonistic activity? I have stayed up all night finishing a book or movie far more often than I have playing a game. I have heard many a person say, “I am not going to let my children play video games.” Can you imagine if someone said that about reading books?

Video games are not going away—the advent of touchscreen devices has ensured that they will continue to reinvent themselves (“Angry Birds,” anyone?). I think the rules set by any parent or guardian for their children are that person’s prerogative. But squelching activity rarely does little to prevent it. Maybe the desire to suppress gaming would not be so common if video game were perceived differently. Video games are not drugs—they are immersive and interactive art.

Patrick Oathout, DSG executive vice president, is a Trinity junior. His column runs every other Tuesday. You can follow Patrick on Twitter @patrickoathout.