Much as I’d like to say, “My kids play their cellos every morning and are partial to Bach,” they actually play computer games on Saturdays, Sundays, and some vacation days. I held off on these until the oldest Chattering felt socially stigmatized, two years ago at the age of nine. We gave him a game called “Civilization” for Hanukkah, and life hasn’t been the same since. Drawing the line on those small-screened Game Boy nightmares has been easier: The answer has always been “No.” And yet, CM recently found herself so worried about the development of the boys’ visual systems (since behavioral optometrists feel we are all screwing our eyes up by staring too long at screens) that I reluctantly agreed to the family purchase of a GameCube, an appliance that runs animated games on the large screen of the television set–instead of the computer. This acquisition seemed an all-round great concept until the boys informed me in the car today that many GameCube games involve shooting at something.

“Shooting at stuff that then shoots back?”

“What did you expect, Mom?” asked the eleven-year-old.

“Well, I was thinking you could find something involving villages or societies that you could design!”

“That you could get with a computer game, but not with a GameCube.”

We were parked outside the neighborhood game store, a place I’ve been uncomfortable with ever since a salesman informed me he doesn’t stock educational games or typing software because they sell so poorly.

“So what kind of GameCube game can we get?” the nine-year-old Chattering asked, worried that this outing was a bust.

“I guess I should talk to your dad. I just wanted that GameCube because I thought it would be better for your eyes!”

My sons stared at me. College suddenly looked really good to them.

“Mom,” said the elder, trying to stay calm. “You do not live in the real world. You should try to go a whole day living like everybody else.”

“Have you EVER played a game on a Game Cube?” the younger asked.

“Well, I’m not a game person.”

“Ever in your life, even when you were in high school, did you play Pac Man? Or Mario?”

“I played a game once where I hit gophers on the head with a mallet.”

At this point, I was toying with them, but they fell for it and rolled onto their sides laughing.

“That was WHAC-A-MOLE, Mom! You play that in an arcade!” Then they asked a very penetrating question: “What have you been doing all this time?”

“Reading, mostly!” I said.

“Oh man…” they groaned.

I left them to do my own shopping at the Park Slope Food Coop. They spent forty minutes at the game store, finally emerging with an E (for Everyone)-rated GameCube game spun off from the movie “The Incredibles.” No shooting. Just a lot of jumping around. The boys were happy with the game upon playing it too, though I now see its press reviews are tepid.

It isn’t good that the Chattering boys find me removed from reality. But my influence helps them make good choices. My brother predicts that once they’re away from me, all hell will break loose. But I don’t think so. Am I kidding myself?