The sound of gunfire, off in the distance, I’m getting’ used to it now. (Life During Wartime, Talking Heads)
I’m not really getting used to it. As in, I haven’t accepted it. But I’ve been hearing a lot of it lately since we moved from our house to a condo. Our television is no longer sequestered on a separate floor. It’s smack in the middle of the living room.
Rat a tat tat. Bursts of bullets. Blunt explosions. Shouted orders. Cries of anguish. Urgent orchestral strings. My boys transfixed with their PS3 controls glued to their fingers and thumbs.
A girlfriend of mine told me recently that her boys (same ages as mine) don’t play video games anymore. Been there, done that. They started at a younger age, while we chose not to open this particular Pandora’s Box until the middle-school years.
So now I’m cooking with my ipod on or hiding in the bedroom or going for another walk in the park. And when it really gets to be too much, I stand in front of the TV and make a time-out sign with my hands while my boys cry in anguish.