How a Wii Saved My Marriage

I don’t believe I am the only woman in the world who has wondered what guys get out of playing video games. Almost my entire life, I have had very little respect for the pastime as well as for the people who participate. I have walked away from many a player, shaking my head in disbelief truly convinced these weirdos had major issues. I inevitably learned to love a man who—perhaps five times a year—would escape to play pretend football or basketball. On the other hand, I hardly learned to stomach the games, as the entire phenomenon was something I had no intention of embracing. For years I have ridiculed grown men for playing Doom and Halo and I have openly judged many a parent for allowing their children to play video games, blaming the technology for the global Attention Deficit Disorder epidemic. I have preached to anyone willing to listen to me, that video games are single-handedly responsible for turning society into overweight, lazy, and desensitized, couch potatoes stripped of any social skills whatsoever. Throughout my seven years of marriage I have oft referred to my husband as a “vidhead” and have whined until blue in the face when he would choose a game of Madden NFL rather than time with me. I have complained. I have belittled. Yep, most of my life I have pined for a video-game-free world. And then along came the Nintendo(R) Wii(TM).

 

Not since the days of Atari had I spent any significant amount of time playing video games. In the 1980s I thoroughly enjoyed Frogger with its joystick-controlled, enlarged pixel-shaped frogs and simple theme song complete with hopping and splatting sound effects. From my family’s 2-inch, cable-free TV box, I would play against my older brother who would beat me day after day, but I put up with it because it was fun. My parents loved that we were out of their way and not killing each other—in real life that is. We didn’t have Pac-Man, which was my favorite game, but I would play that one on a huge, arcade-style machine at Pizza Hut during birthday parties. I loved the chomping sounds, the lights, the shapes and the levels. For perhaps a year, to girls and boys everywhere, video games were everything. I loved all the discussions, the hype and the pop culture that went with it. But similar to Michael Jackson’s moonwalk, by the time I had mastered Atari—it just wasn’t cool anymore.

By middle school video games and their operating systems graduated to more advanced graphics and realistic subject matter. Meanwhile, I discovered boys. A gigantic, never ending video game in and of itself, the pursuit of boys came complete with soundtracks, point systems and levels of nemeses—all in an effort to make me lose or quit every game out of sheer frustration. My friends and I would chase boys while the boys would chase Super Mario or other lame, fictitious video characters they thought were cooler than girls. At about that age I had developed quite an aversion to video games simply because they took attention away from me. And that distaste for such—in my priceless opinion—a boyish hobby, significantly worsened as I neared adulthood.

Geeks Come in All Shapes and Sizes

Then a few months ago, for my husband’s birthday, out of complete desperation as well as temporary insanity, I had decided to surprise him with a Wii. He had been researching the thing for a while and I figured, “Hey, it must be something cool enough for him to mention it a million times a week. Perhaps I should take the buzzing as a hint.” One random Friday, I walked into Target, approached the electronics department vidhead and said, “I’d like to buy a Wii. Could you please tell me what one looks like?” The kid had the nerve to snicker at me when he answered, “You’ll have to come back Sunday morning when we get our next shipment. The doors open at 8.” I walked away, so cool and so above all the Wii knowledge, as I told him I would go somewhere else to buy one as I was in a hurry. He kindly informed me I would need to get in line Sunday morning, hours in advance, because the Wii was sold out EVERYWHERE. I actually said this, “Oh. The Wii must be pretty in-demand since it just came out. Nintendo must have done a great job marketing it.” Pathetic and lame, all at the same time! I could almost hear him making fun of me in his head as I walked away practically stumbling on the tail between my legs.

Two days later, while my husband soundly slept, my father and I made the ridiculous mission to Target at 6 a.m. In my mind there were two options: Either I was going to be the first and only person there and would be labeled a complete and total geek the rest of my life, or I would be the 100th person there with 99 geeky teenage boys pointing and laughing at me while I approached the Wii line from hell. Wrong. I was number 15 behind 14 respectable moms and dads free of pimples and black T-shirts. “Wait?” I asked one of the other Miis, “Is this the line for the Wii?” Then a kind Target employee handed me one of 80 tickets which guaranteed I would get a Wii without having to participate in an as-seen-on-TV stampede. “Let’s see the ticket!” I heard from a distance. I glanced up with the ticket in hand and “click” my dad took a picture. I threatened, “You dare not show that picture to a single person or I will never hear the end of it!”

Hours later the husband got his wish. Nope… my parents were still in town, but his precious little Wii was hooked up. He was impressed I had bonded with the people in the Wii line well enough to find out which accessories I needed, how many to purchase and that “numchuck” was actually “nunchuck.” Then it happened. Somehow while I was hiding out upstairs, probably writing an article on “How to Tactfully Discuss Generational Differences in Parenting with Your Parents,” I overheard my husband and my father yelling, cheering and laughing together. I tip-toed my way to the top of the stairs and witnessed the two men playing virtual golf. “Great!” I yelled down. “Now my dad’s turned into a vidhead!”

I hesitantly joined the family solely for the purpose of obtaining hideous videotape footage of grownups making complete fools of themselves whilst playing video games. Soon my husband demonstrated to our children how to pretend bowl. I stood with arms folded and rolled my eyes. My eldest reminded her daddy, “My brain will turn to mush if I play this thing!” Then she got a spare and jumped for joy. My concern had reached new heights when my dad had asked my mom to try bowling and she gave in without a fight. I sadly watched her as though she was my last hope for a video-game-free world. I wanted to jump in front of her in slow motion and block the TV in an attempt to save her and yell, “No! Don’t do it, mom! There’s no turning back!” Faster than I could say gutter ball, the little woman raised her remote at the end of a perfect lunge, and there it was… a STRIKE! My mom followed that up with the most amazing victory dance I had ever seen from a sixty something grandmother of 12! Purely to make a point and put an end to the painful immaturity, I hip-checked my husband and stole his remote, “Move over Munson, let the Kingpin show you how it’s done.” I aloofly dropped a curve ball and with one eye shut I somewhat watched the ball move toward the pins. I pretended not to care about the score as I walked away. But somehow out of nowhere I had gotten an indescribable yet familiar adrenaline rush. Then I remembered it. And boy, did it feel good.

Within the first few weeks of owning a Wii, I played with the same enthusiasm as the days of Frogger and Pack-Man. My husband and I created our own Miis—characters who compete against each other in Wii games—which made the games even more engaging. Our children began requesting family bowling nights. And weekend movie nights, which had typically involved very little interaction or conversation, were replaced with mommy and daddy Wii tennis matches and golf outings. On one occasion a Wii boxing match turned into a perfect therapy session, complete with a knockout. And I won. The next day when I told my husband I would need a few days off from the Wii to rest my overstrained muscles from the “therapeutic boxing” he giggled and asked, “Now who’s the vidhead?” In my best-ever “Rocky” impersonation I raised my arms high in agreement and hung my head low. Then I asked my husband if he could find it in his heart to forgive me for all the years he had to listen to the ridicule, name calling and whining when he would play Madden NFL. I explained that most of my life I never understood the appeal of video games or the people who played them. But for the first time in a long time, I had become a kid again when I played the Wii. My husband agreed that it was a side of me he had never before seen. “Better late than never,” I said. “I sure am glad we got a Wii.”