I have a little secret: my sons are avid players of first-person shooter games. Admitting this doesn’t fill me with parental pride; in fact, I often feel torn about it. As a staunch advocate for gun control, I’ve held onto a more peaceful view of childhood. I’m the mom who once shunned water guns and cringed at the “pew-pew” sounds of toddlers in the park. When a little boy turned a balloon sword into a balloon gun, I couldn’t help but scoff—until his grandmother chimed in, “I didn’t let my son play with guns, and now he’s a cop.” Suddenly, I found myself handing a balloon sword/gun to my then three-year-old. Nature, nurture, and the necessary balance of both became my new mantra.
Fast forward twelve years and one more son later, and we find ourselves amidst Nerf guns and video games. While I haven’t actively encouraged gun play or gaming, I also haven’t outright condemned them. As long as they’re not hurting one another, I allow my boys—ages 15 and 10—to enjoy their toy weapons and video games as freely as they ride their bikes or play sports. For clarity, they’re only allowed to play games rated “E 10+” or “Teen,” so there’s no extreme violence, blood, or inappropriate content.
What began as harmless pixelated bows and arrows has transformed into hyper-realistic depictions of an arsenal of guns. I admit it: my kids can name a plethora of weapons and armor. It’s a little concerning yet strangely impressive. I know, it sounds terrible. Our family is part of a charter school community that generally discourages screen time, and while some parents are strict about media consumption, we’re not alone in allowing our kids to explore video games—even if some consider Minecraft too violent.
I miss those days of Minecraft. Once, I vowed never to let my children experience anything I hadn’t previewed myself, but now I find myself wishing those days of innocent block-building were back. In an increasingly chaotic world, we often rationalize choosing the lesser evils.
I completely understand the appeal of these first-person shooter games. They present epic adventures in fantastical environments from a unique perspective, and for teens today, they’re a primary avenue for social interaction. Forming alliances with friends in a virtual world is thrilling, even though they could have similar experiences without the violent context. But apparently, the thrill of shooting beats the alternative.
I often stand by, hands on my hips, listening to them enthusiastically explain their gameplay. I feel like a hypocrite because I advocate for peace, yet here are my kids engaging in virtual battle. Should I unplug the console? Delete their games? Demand they only play family-friendly titles? But they’ve become so entrenched in these games that limiting them now would feel hypocritical. After all, if the beta version of a game is this popular, who am I to deny them that experience?
Despite my worries, I remind myself that they are fundamentally good boys. They’re kind, considerate, and responsible; they excel in school, help with chores, and maintain strong friendships. They even still enjoy outdoor play and the occasional board game. They seem to compartmentalize their gaming and real life effectively, and while I monitor their time spent gaming, they mostly adhere to the limits I set.
Am I just relieving my guilt by justifying their gaming habits? Perhaps, but I also genuinely believe they grasp the distinction between virtual violence and reality. They’ve shown understanding during discussions about real-life gun violence and safety, and they assure me, “It’s okay, Mom, we know it’s not real.”
Of course, there’s a possibility they’re just appeasing me. But I want to believe them, and I genuinely do. Yet, with the ongoing gun debates in our country, I can’t shake the feeling of being a hypocrite. I stay alert, enforce boundaries, and engage with them in other activities—like puzzles, cooking, or building something in Minecraft.
In the end, parenting is all about navigating these complexities. Choices are rarely clear-cut, and the line between acceptable and unacceptable is often blurred. I’ve had important conversations with my kids about the impact of violence in the real world, and I hope to raise them to be mindful of their actions, both virtual and real.
In summary, I allow my kids to play violent video games because they are good people, and I trust their ability to separate fiction from reality. While I wrestle with my own feelings of hypocrisy, I remain vigilant and engaged in their lives, hoping they’ll grow into compassionate adults.
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