Gamer Dad, Gaming Monogamist

Editor's note: Matthew Hunter Mason comes to terms with his status as a gamer dad. Although, as a non-dad gamer, I'm still with Matthew in that I really like to finish a good game before I cue up the next. -Demian 

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Slap me with black armor and call me Ani — I've gone to the Dark Side of gaming: I'm becoming something of a casual player.

Tenuously made metaphors aside, I'm using the term casual in the sense that I play games in spurts these days rather than the ass-numbing, hours-on-end marathons of my youth. Actually, to dissolve any misnomers that the term has for both myself and you, the reader, I'm officially changing my title to gaming buff. I may not get the play time that keeps me up to speed with the "blink and you'll forget about it" culture we have these days, but I more than hold my own when it comes to staying abreast on the latest news and trendy topics. I like to think that keeps me on some kind of even keel.

This isn't anything new on my end. I've already regaled you with how gaming affects your budget as well as how having a family changes the amount of it you do, but now I've found a new way in which to make myself feel markedly older — I like to call it gaming monogamy.

It's not really a new concept; in fact, I think we all started out by only giving one game that come-hither stare. Because, well — we only got games on holidays and birthdays and the such. And while my roaring 20s and the disposable income that came with washed away the notion of playing what you had, no matter what…I kind of miss having some sort of focus.

As I write this, I have a wife who's watching a medical mystery show on television, an almost two-year-old running a toy vacuum behind me, and a nine-year-old yelling for me to come look at what he made out of Legos in his room. As if I didn't have enough distractions in my life, I'm going to find time to juggle two or three games at a time? For what, the sake of saying I played something to prove my worth? As Bitmob intern Mike Minotti once famously said, "Yeah fucking right."

Remember when we used to "master" video games? Kids these days have it easy, what with their save files and level selects. Back then we had to play a game from start to finish with nary a potty break just so we could see those obtuse end credits. And we had to do it before mom called us up for supper. We didn't like it. We loved it. 

Actually, I won't fuss about the technological progress gaming has undergone; rather I lament the investment I used to make in games. That sense of gratification is lost when the furthest I get in a game anymore is somewhere between the half and three-quarters completion range. Even if all I got was a scrolling wall of poorly translated text and an image, it's better than nothing at all.

I lost that loving feeling for a while, and amassed a hoard of games for no other apparent reason than to tell people I don't know on the Internet that I had them, and to perpetuate an unwanted diet of ramen and pancakes. The only thing I got for the trouble was a ridiculous pile of shame — made even more disheartening by the fact that I traded in more unfinished games than I completed for a time.

These days I'm held accountable for my financial transgressions. I can't, with good conscience, pick up something new until I've wrung just about every ounce of fun from the games I already own. Sure, that sounds very utilitarian, but I had no choice. Nobody should have to ingest the amount of sodium in a Cup O' Noodles unless it's their only recourse. Even though I can't display a burgeoning collection with Vanna White hands, a lovely side effect to singular purchases is a total lack of buyer's remorse.

At this point I've probably scared a few people with the thought of a one-game-at-a-time lifestyle, but know that I've bent the monogamy rules a bit so that it's not as monopolistic as it sounds. I figure it's my prerogative to change them; I'm a parent and that what we do. Let me explain: 

I only play one big game at a time. You know the kind I'm talking about, so I won't even try to bend your ear with what genres and play styles constitutes a big game. Think of it like food for a minute. You could eat both the steak and the lobster, but that would be really gluttonous in hindsight. It makes more sense to have a few side dishes complimenting the meal. Along with my big game, I also play something on my handheld. It doesn't really impede my otherwise-sawed-off-shotgun-like focus, as I'm usually playing it in bed or during long trips. I also play — keeping with the meal analogy — a palette cleanser or chaser in the form of a downloadable game, or something a little less structured that I can enjoy in chunks.

In other words, saving the princess in Mario doesn't impede my search for the Origami Killer. Sure, the dinner concept is a thinly veiled excuse to sneak in a couple of other plays; but variety is the spice of life, right?

What's important is I still get the satisfaction of completing games rather than staring at a cringe-worthy pile of shame. This piece is probably a written justification of my change in attitude if nothing else; most of you probably think video-game monogamy is a horrible idea. And that's OK — you probably don't have to multitask in the same way that I do. 

But I also have the feeling that I'm not alone in the sentiment that we need to appreciate video games from beginning to end, rather than half-way for the sake of having a conversation piece for a podcast or chatting with friends. And the way I do it is by, uh, playing a game from beginning to end. One at a time.

Or this post is just me Frankenstein-walking off the table and yelling as the last vestiges of my former self become hidden in a black cape.