The Bear Grylls manifesto for narrowing children’s minds

http://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/feb/12/bear-grylls-manifesto-children-computer-games

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Bear Grylls? He’s lovely. A macho man who makes elephant dung OK to drink, he has traditional values at heart. But now the adventurer has drawn up a manifesto for children, which advocates banning computer games because children should be outside, getting fit.

It’s a shame Grylls doesn’t see that children can do both. The internet, gaming, coding: they are extensions and expansions that make most modern childhoods an even bigger adventure. Video games are helpful in shaping childhood, offering build-play and thought puzzles. Minecraft is just one great example of a game where the imagination creates the rules.

Computer games can help children learn narrative structure, make astute decisions and build confidence, even in dysfunctional homes. Taking advantage of learning opportunities with a pragmatic mindset is often encouraged throughout adventures such as The Legend of Zelda – which rewards learned behaviours including shooting arrows accurately, gaining a proficiency in fishing and collecting hidden artefacts.

In these choice-based storyworlds – even the controversial ones – there are rooms, spaces, countries, planets, galaxies and whole historical eras designed by developers. These offer a gamer time to think and leave the main thoroughfare if they please. The metatheatre of side quests and games within games is inherent to console culture. In role-playing games and sims, you actually build character: create a spaceship, perhaps, or take a long road trip in an elite car. These can be meditative experiences, and don’t have to be sought alone. Do you want to grow a good kid? Teach them to co-op. There are four pad slots for a reason.

I’m no hardcore gamer. In fact, I’m a total anomaly in my generation, and in the industry. It confuses my friends and colleagues, who were all brought up in the 90s, when after-school gaming was the norm. While the gift of a Sega Megadrive gathered dust in the attic, I was downstairs sewing, climbing trees and being forced to read Enid Blyton. It wasn’t until my teens that I was permitted to discover games as immersive storyworlds to enjoy. It felt distinctly abnormal to learn at 13 instead of four that you don’t just tell Mario to jump. He makes you decide: how high?

When I was 20, my partner was shocked to hear I’d never played Final Fantasy VII, and decided to do me a huge life favour by playing it with me. The game is a lively introduction to political ecology and the perception of activism. You wouldn’t necessarily know that if you were eight or nine; but while you play as Cloud, a military man-turned-activist within a post-nuclear crisis, the complex moral decisions lead to lessons learned for life.

Summary: stay curious – you learn more; challenge oppression; if angels fear to tread but you’re obliged to visit, prepare; animals have feelings; be brave, defend your planet – you live there; humans are – well, all equally human-like; loyalty and true friendship are inextricably linked; you are responsible for your actions.

Learning these things made for some of the sweetest hours of my life … and I’ve met Matt Damon. I am still at odds with adult life but making up for the serious lost gaming time of childhood.

Christmas involved an oversized pickaxe, and caving with friends. Yesterday I hung out with the Greek pantheon and created a town strategy in order to keep an ancient civilisation fed, watered, wined, cultured, educated, employed, entertained and safe … safe from the vengeful Hephaestus, miffed that my mate Prometheus hustled his flame. (Today we parted ways. He’s kind of a bad influence.)

Once you’ve done all these things, you see that banning video games isn’t a way to broaden a child’s world. Actually, it can be an easy way of snapping it shut.