quietlyradical

Paper or plastic?  Coke or Pepsi?  Boxers or briefs?  Many of us make these deceptively simple, split-second decisions, hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of times throughout our lives.  But are these choices really as simple as they seem, and do we actually have any real choices at all?

Long ago, my siblings labeled me the “goody two shoes” of our family, mainly because, even as a teenager, when rebellion is generally expected if not actually required, my choices in life, from the academic, to the professional, to the romantic, have, for the most part, been admittedly tame.  Even in the ways in which I choose to spend my free time, I am not a “thrill-seeker” by any stretch of the imagination.

One of my few guilty pleasures, however, is my affinity for computer games, although even in this endeavor I gravitate more toward the serene than the sensational.  I could never fathom my late son’s penchant for the games that were comprised of sometimes shockingly graphic violence, from the beheading of zombies to blowing things up.  I further solidified my “goody two shoes” image in Aaron’s eyes when I “got my game on” with amusements such as Shop Mania, Farmville, and Pizza Tycoon, much to the dismay of my Millennial-era offspring.  He would roll his eyes and ridicule me openly, “Mom!  Why are you always playing the baby games?”

In my own defense, however, I feel that life is stressful enough already, and adding make-believe carnage and mayhem to the mix will not serve to make it less so.  It is perhaps for this reason, that my favorite go-to pastimes, especially in times of trouble, are one or more of the various incarnations of a PC game known as The Sims.

For hardcore gamers into games like League of Legends, World of Warcraft, or Grand Theft Auto V, a game such as The Sims is dorky beyond belief.  For me, however, that is part of its appeal (probably because, when I was growing up, a bookworm, viola-playing, black girl from Terre Haute, Indiana, in the “pre-Urkel” days of the 1970s, lots of people would have described me as “dorky beyond belief” as well.)  For the uninitiated, The Sims is basically a life-simulation game.  Players have the ability to create neighborhoods and characters that can pursue careers, develop relationships, and engage in a variety of leisure activities.  The most interesting feature, at least to me, however, is the “freewill” mode.  The game can be adjusted, at any point, to either allow the character so live independently, without intervention, or conversely, to have their every move controlled by the human player.  In the spirit of full disclosure, I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that I always disable my characters’ freewill.

I justify this, at least in my own mind, by being a “benevolent dictator” in my virtual worlds.  Apparently, there are some gamers who inflict unimaginable cruelty upon their Sims (see writer Christopher Hooton’s March 30, 2015 article in       The Independent for examples of what I mean).  But, aside from the occasional cheating spouse, my Sims are generally happy, healthy, well-educated, and successful in their careers. I like to create characters that start off disadvantaged in some way (single moms supporting kids on a fast food salary or families where one of the main breadwinners dies) and then work them back to a place of happiness and prosperity.  I realize that to many people this seems like a totally boring way to play the game.  So, why do I do this, especially since a surprisingly large number of gamers seem to use The Sims as an outlet for their darker sides?  What does my benign, some might even say lackluster, approach to the game say about me?

The first version of The Sims was released in February of 2000 and I believe that I purchased my first game at the start of that summer.  I was a single parent, and my then nine year old son spent summers in another state with my ex-husband.  It was an easy way to pass the time without the company of my son.  When Aaron returned in the fall he got a kick out of seeing all the characters I had created while he was away, although he would sometimes surreptitiously turn on my characters’ freewill and laugh uncontrollably when I would log on again and freak out upon finding that half the parents had been fired for not going to work and many of the children were on the verge of being expelled for skipping school.  Another favorite trick of his was to cause characters from one household to become so chummy with members of other households that family members switched places with their neighbors.  I would often log on to find that the Smith children have moved to the Browns house where Mr. Brown had mysteriously been replaced by Mr. Jones!

Aaron, on the other hand, liked to recreate himself and his friends within the game.  He set up twenty-something versions of himself and Mitchell, a neighbor boy, in a rocking bachelor pad where they pursued unconventional careers.  (Mitchell stayed at home painting until his artwork became valuable enough to sell at very high prices and Aaron worked his way to the top of the culinary career track and then threw dinner parties for the girls in the neighborhood, who would then buy him gifts in return!)  It was a pastime that we shared with lots of inside jokes.

Then September 11, 2001 happened.

Just two months shy of his eleventh birthday, Aaron was able to stay at home alone for the two hours afterschool until I returned from work.  That day was the one and only time that he ever called me at work and asked me to come home early.  The school had told the children   that “something” had happened, but provided no details.  As a result, my generally unflappable fifth-grader arrived home and clicked on the TV, expecting to see his favorite cartoons, only to be greeted instead by images of crashing planes and burning buildings.  For months it seemed that everyone was in a state of shock.  People drew closer, to family and friends, but also even strangers on the street seemed to be treating each other in a kinder, gentler way, exhibiting the solicitous compassion usually extended to the terminally ill or the recently bereaved.  America was in mourning; everyone seemed to be searching for a way to ease the pain.

I think it was then that escaping into video games became more than just a way to pass the idle moments unfilled by work, housekeeping, or the demands of single parenthood.  The Sims became therapy.  In that virtual reality space, things could be the way they were “supposed to be”; life could be fair; hard work and kindness to others could pay off; everyone could be safe.  When the Grim Reaper knocked at the door it was only to take those elderly characters that had lived full lives, retired from successful careers, and spent their final years doing yoga and playing with their grandchildren.

I grew up in what could best be described as a significantly religious family.  My mother taught Sunday school for over thirty years and I can remember a number of discussions throughout my religious education about the concept of free will.  In recent years, as I take time to reexamine and reevaluate my faith, it remains one of the most problematic aspects of religious doctrine.  On one hand, I am very grateful that we are not merely puppets, real live versions of The Sims, subject to the whims of a capricious, unseen figure who determines our fate based upon his or her mood on that particular day.  On the other hand, however, there are times when free will seems a bit overrated; it allows us to make choices that at best, often silly and at worst, irreversibly detrimental.  When I remove the element of choice from the Sims of my own creation, I know, despite protestations to the contrary, that it is much more for my own benefit and comfort than for theirs.  Life is messy and often painful and living according to the dictates of some unseen force, no matter what the level of benevolent goodwill, in the end, isn’t really living at all.