Last evening, my 10-year-old son was devouring spaghetti at the kitchen counter after baseball practice when a familiar request surfaced. “Mom, can I play Fortnite?”
Without hesitation, I responded with a firm “no.”
“Mom, I’m literally the only kid in my class who doesn’t have it! When the boys talk about the latest Fortnite updates at lunch, I feel so left out. It’s really unfair!” His words struck a chord, triggering memories of my own struggles to fit in during seventh grade.
He continued, “I understand your concerns about violence. You think games like this desensitize people, but I promise that won’t happen to me. I just want to connect with my friends. What if I write you an essay on why I should get it?”
I chuckled at the thought of my son—who often resists writing—offering to draft an essay. Yet, his thoughtful reasoning momentarily swayed me. As a former legal professional, I appreciated his ability to articulate his feelings while tugging at my heartstrings.
For a fleeting moment, I contemplated allowing him to play. But then I recalled a conversation with my 7-year-old after an active shooter drill, who described how everyone crammed under desks during the exercise and how even a fart made them laugh, only to feel guilty about it later.
The reality today is stark. In 2019, gun violence statistics are alarming. Educators and psychologists report rising instances of hateful behavior and a troubling decline in emotional intelligence, particularly empathy. The headlines surrounding male violence have become so frequent that they’re starting to blur.
As a lawyer focused on women’s rights, I worry deeply for my daughter. Yet, my concern for my son is equally pronounced. Boys are under tremendous pressure, facing confusing and often contradictory messages. We tell them to express their feelings yet reprimand them for showing vulnerability. We expect respect and kindness but often undermine their self-worth with derogatory phrases. We encourage competition and dominance but also preach the importance of fair play.
We teach them that violence is unacceptable, yet allow them to immerse themselves in games like Fortnite, where the main objective revolves around survival through shooting. Our children are bombarded with these mixed messages while grappling with a world that feels increasingly unsafe.
Across schools nationwide, children participate in drills that require them to hide in closets and cubbies for survival. Even the youngest students grasp that these are genuine threats, struggling to comprehend their implications. For parents, routine active shooter drills are disconcerting. The question is no longer if a tragedy will occur; it’s about hoping it doesn’t affect our loved ones.
I recognize that video games alone don’t cause mass violence. Fortnite, with its cartoonish graphics and lack of gore, is often dismissed as harmless by other parents. They argue that it fosters social interaction among peers.
However, I am swayed by child psychologist Dr. Laura Simmons, who emphasizes that substantial research links violent video games to real-life aggression and reduced prosocial behavior.
Like any parent, I want my child to feel included, but can I justify letting him engage in a game where friends shout “kill him!” while other children are suffering?
Navigating parental limits is complex. While I impose restrictions on violent video games, where do I draw the line? Can they watch violent movies? Is it acceptable to play at a friend’s house but not at home? With violence, pornography, and hatred so readily available, determining when to intervene is challenging.
In today’s world, granting our kids access to what’s popular feels like a race to the bottom. Making tough decisions about what to allow is crucial, and I believe that parents can make it easier by having open discussions with one another.
As summer approaches, I secretly hope that Fortnite fades into obscurity. Perhaps a new baseball video game will capture the interest of kids instead? If not, I know this won’t be the last time my son is left out. And who knows, maybe next time he won’t be the only one.
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Summary:
In this reflection, the author discusses the apprehension surrounding allowing her son to play Fortnite. Citing concerns about violence, societal pressures on boys, and the alarming rise of gun-related incidents, she weighs the pros and cons of video gaming against the broader implications of a violent culture. The struggle to balance inclusion with safety is evident, leading her to conclude that limiting access to violent games is a necessary stance as a parent.