BAM BAM BAM

It is not an exaggeration to estimate that I have hundreds of little toys cars throughout my house. Robby has at least 50 dinosaurs, a lifetime supply of balls in various sizes and enough trains to fill all three layers of track on the train table. A small city zoo, filled with various stuffed animals, has taken residence along the walls of Robby's bedroom. There is little doubt that a boy lives in this house!

Last summer I finally acquiesced and agreed to buy Robby two plastic swords. He had developed a new fascination with all things piratical and was using any hard, long object as a sword. On principle I don't like play weapons, but we allowed the toy swords because both Scott and I were tired of ducking from swinging brooms, mops and sticks. Simply put, foam and plastic hurt less.

We have not allowed Robby to play with toy guns. In fact, we have avoided shows that feature guns and violence. We were successful at keeping "playing war" at bay in our house--until a few weeks ago.

Robby walked in on Scott playing a video game and everything changed. My little guy was instantly enthralled as he watched Daddy "shoot robots." Since that defining moment, Robby's interests have drastically switched. Now his little world revolves around guns and shooting robots.

First thing in the morning Robby asks me if his Daddy is going to shoot robots when he comes home. My little "robot cop" has even snitched the phone and called his Daddy at work to inquire about shooting more robots. He walks around with his finger extended, screaming "bam bam bam" randomly through the house. I was horrified when he pretended to shoot the butcher at our grocery store. I found myself constantly saying, "Don't shoot me or anything else alive." He has taken his new obsession to a new level!

Friday afternoon Scott came home from work with a present for Robby. Much to my chagrin he bought the Robot hunter his very own Robot shooting video game for the Wii, complete with a controller gun. Robby was so excited he simply began to squeal, flap his little hands and jump. His reaction was too cute for me to be frustrated at his Daddy for breaking our agreed upon rule.

I now see the logic behind Scott's gift. Robby has spent hours hunting down robots on the Wii. The plastic gun, confined to video game use only, has minimized the random finger shooting that was previously pervasive. Robby can now shoot robots independently which frees up Scott in the evening-- to perhaps help with the dishes.

Sometimes, Daddy's do know best. He recognized something that perhaps I failed to acknowledge or understand. Boys are attracted to good vs. evil games. Snakes, snails and puppy dog tails (and shooting robots) that's what little boys are made of. At least, for right now, that's the best description of my little boy!

Looking at his aim I doubt he'll ever be drafted as a sniper. I'm also not sure why he taunts the robots by saying that they are "yummy." (And please ignore the clutter of my bedroom.)