pokeballAs a gamer dad, it’s my sworn duty to encourage the next generation to pick up the dice and follow in my tabletop gaming footsteps. (I’d encourage them to play some video games too, but all the encouragement they need for that is a power switch in the “on” position, so I think we’ve got that covered.)

Last year, I saw that my my eldest daughter, Thing One, was poking around at Pokemon. Her friends were playing. She had watched a few episodes of the TV show. She knew the names of a handful of critters beyond Pikachu and… um… that one fiery guy. You know. The lizard.

“Excellent,” I said myself in my best Mr. Burns voice. “First Pokemon. Then Magic: the Gathering. And from there, it’s a short slide down the slippery slope to Pathfinder, Axis and Allies, or Call of Cthulhu.”

I stifled an evil laugh as I sprang to the Internet to order a bulk pack of random, but playable, Pokemon cards.

That was a mistake.

I’ve since learned that, like most kids, Thing One liked the idea of Pokemon, but had no idea how to play the game. Even the kids who were “playing the game” didn’t know how to actually play the game: they just picked some number on the cards to compare, and turned it into “war” with cute Japanese critters. (“My Turtleduck has 80 hp, which is more than your Squisheedog’s 50 hp, so I win!”)

A year later, most of those cards have wandered off into the elementary school plaything ecosystem, traded away for Silly Bands, erasers, heroin, or whatever the fad is this week.

This Christmas, I decided, things would be different. This Christmas, Thing Two is old enough to be interested in Pokemon too. And this Christmas, rather a hundred random cards, I picked up and wrapped a two-player starter set.

With rules. And instructions on how to actually play the game.

Several days and several games later, it’s going rather well. I taught Thing One to play while her sister was visiting some friends, so it was just the two of us. We used the walk-through that came with the starter set (“Don’t shuffle the decks! Draw the cards when the instructions tell you to!”) which, while slow and dry, did a good job of introducing each concept and card-type in small, bite-sized chunks. By the time we finished, we were quite bored, but definitely knew how to play the game.

When Thing Two got home, her sister taught her how to play, with me standing by to help just in case. Since then, I’ve played two more games with Thing Two, and she’s suggested we do a round-robin tournament between the three of us, scoring points for each win. “I can use my whiteboard to track the points,” she said. She’s very big on tracking points.

So far, so good. But I don’t think they’re at the top of that slippery slope leading to the Magic: the Gathering pro tour just yet. To get there, they’ll need to be able to play by themselves. Christmas vacation won’t last forever; I won’t always be here to play the game with them.

But we’ve got until Monday to cross that hurdle. I think after this week’s tournament (with a booster-pack prize!) we can make it happen.

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Image from http://www.minecraftwiki.net/My daughters recently discovered Minecraft’s creative mode. For some reason I just can’t understand, they prefer “building whatever you want with infinite resources” over the more traditional “digging and stacking while being stalked by zombies and creepers.” It might have something to do with the creative mode’s ability to fly.

Over the weekend, I set up a creative mode server on the local network for them to play on together.

They love it.

The only thing better than unleashing your inner LEGO maniac is doing so with someone else. Creating in a vacuum can be fun, but it’s exponentially better when you can tell someone, “Hey, come check out this thing I made!”

It’s interesting to observe my girls playing on the server world. They play much as they do in real life: each stakes out a section of territory, sets it up according to her tastes, then visits the other’s turf to see what’s going on. Only now, instead of using dolls or toy animals as visitors and characters, they use themselves… and their imaginations.

“Let’s say we’re pilgrims,” says the oldest, who was recently learning about the Plymouth Rock gang as part of the traditional Thanksgiving-tide history unit.

“Okay,” says the younger. “And I’m pretending that my character is a girl.”

(Mental Note: Download some skins for them, so they don’t both look like Minecraft Steve.)

(Second Mental Note: Don’t show them how to download skins themselves, or they’ll fill my hard drive with them.)

What I find most fascinating is that, while they’re playing in this new, imaginary universe of blocks and infinite chickens, they’re still playing in their usual world: the one of shared imagination. They aren’t worried about victory conditions, or even making up their own ways to “win.” They’re just playing.

They’re treating it as a toy, not a game.

And that’s all good. They’re kids, playing. They don’t need no steeenking victory conditions. All they need is fun.

I wonder if other, more ostensibly “social” games could take a cue from this. Could you have a purely fun, “creative” mode in, say, Farmville? Or maybe a mode in Starcraft in which the players take ten minutes to make the coolest-looking bases they design, then invite each other over to admire them. Yes, yes, at this point we’re giving up all pretense of these things being games, but by embracing a toy-like sandbox approach, could they reach a wider audience?

Play… without competition. I can see the appeal. But how would you monetize such a thing? If you have any ideas on the subject, please pass ‘em along in the comments.

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