Teaching My 4-Year-Old to Game: Genius Move or Horrible Mistake?

Part 1: Press Start to Cry (and Maybe Laugh a Lot)

 

 Alright, so picture this: I’m just chilling, trying to relive my childhood glory days with some classic Contra, and here comes my four-year-old. He’s got those big puppy-dog eyes, probably sticky hands, and that look like he’s about to ask for something.

“Can I try?”

Now, any sensible parent might’ve said, “Sorry, bud, this is one of those hard-as-nails games where even a pixel of a bullet sends you packing. You’re just not ready.” But nope—couldn’t help myself. Handed him the controller like I was passing on the family sword.

 Honestly, I was weirdly proud.

 

Let’s be clear: I wasn’t about to traumatize him with some modern nightmare like Elden Ring. I went with Mario and Contra, thinking “hey, these are old-school, they’ll be a breeze.” Ha! Yeah, no.

Mario? My kid ran straight into the first Goomba. Not once. Not twice. Four times. Like he was on a mission to hug the thing.  
Contra? Apparently, enemy bullets are collectibles now, because he jumped right into every single one. I’m over here, like, “No, bud, dodge the bullets!” And he’s all, “Why are they shooting me? I didn’t even do anything!” You know what? Fair point, kid. Welcome to the ‘80s, where games don’t care about your feelings—just pure chaos.

Then came the questions. So many questions.

    “Why isn’t that guy wearing a shirt?”
    “Why do mushrooms make you big?”
    “Can I shoot Luigi?”

(Luigi’s not even here, but sure, dream big, kid.)

Trying to explain “lives” in a video game to a four-year-old? Good luck. He’d lose one and look at me like I’d told him Santa moved to Mars. Then, out of nowhere:

“If Mario can come back, why can’t Grandma?”

Yeah. I almost unplugged everything and told him we were switching to board games forever.

But honestly? Watching him play was hilarious. He’d run, jump way too early, fall in a pit, and still shout, “I ALMOST MADE IT!” with this huge grin. I mean, the confidence is inspiring. Contra turned into a one-kid demolition derby—he mostly blew up himself, but he loved every second. He laughed so hard, I started laughing too. No one was winning, but it didn’t even matter.

We laughed, high-fived, and trash-talked pixel bosses like we were in some buddy cop movie. It was messy, chaotic, and just pure fun.

Then it happened. He hit me with the big one:

“Can I get my own Nintendo?”

So, did I just start him on the path to gaming greatness? Or am I raising a future sleep-deprived little gremlin who’ll call me “noob” before breakfast? Guess we’ll find out.

Stick around for part two—screen-time debates, existential questions, and how my four-year-old somehow finished Contra’s first level before I’d even had my coffee. This parenting thing is wild, man.