Nina (my ten-year-old) decided to teach Max (my four-year-old) to play Rock, Paper, Scissors. After a few throws, Max put out a hand with two fingers pressed to his palm and said “web”. I’ve never been more proud and horrified at the same time. Not only was Max thinking way outside the box, he grasped the fact the Spiderman trumped rock, paper or scissors.
Of course, then there’s the matter of geek influence. Nina knew what Max’s gesture meant. Have I submersed my children in geek culture? By watching certain shows with them, as opposed to near them, by being more willing to play with action figures than soccer balls – based on my own skill and knowledge base, got to play to your strengths, right? – have I pointed them down the geeking path, aimed at a future of cons, zines and recurring frustration that a jet pack does not, indeed, actually exist, because I would be home by now?
I’m not sure. I shared a love of words and automobiles with my father, but not basketball or early rock and roll. So I’ve decided not to be too worried. Exposure is about all I can offer anyway. My children are already carving their own personalities out of whatever raw material Sarah and I threw down – rock, paper or webbing, I guess.
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