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Minecraft Stole my Children

“It’s 10pm, do you know where your children are?”

Bitch, yes. My kids are still young, but let me tell you something, I can already see myself as that evil parent who always knows where they are at all times because I’m GPSing tracking their phones. Of course, I won’t know for sure until I get there, but for now, I am comforted by the fact that my kids don’t go anywhere without me taking them there first.

The problem is what they do when they’re home. They’re in my house, I can hear, and see them at almost all hours they are awake… but I’ve lost them. It’s almost like I don’t even know them anymore, and I used to brag that I know them better than they know themselves. They are complete strangers. They’ve been stolen away from me.

It’s Minecraft, y’all. Minecraft stole my children from me. Minecraft is the true evil of their generation. It’s like pixelated crack. If they could snort it, I am positive they would.

They come home from school, ask what chore/s they can do to earn screen time, and I basically never see them again until their shit has shut off, or they have decided it they do not nourish their bodies they will die.

It’s all they talk about. It’s all they want to do. It’s all they think about. They have full conversations about Minecraft (and Roblox, don’t get me started on that shit) that sound like a completely different language to me. They probably dream about Minecraft. I no longer have to look at their shit unless it’s clogging the toilet, but I’m pretty sure it comes out in blocks.

I’m confused. My brain does not compute. I game quite a bit. Hell, I live stream games, but Minecraft is a weird little world I don’t understand.

They keep trying to pull me in. I want to talk to them about their school days and they want to talk to me about blocky bullshit.

I just want to hold a normal conversation, and they want to talk about some random youtube video they watched about some random Minecraft crap I don’t understand. I would rather talk about the molecular content of farts than talk about Minecraft. I would rather discuss what might have been trapped in Abraham Lincoln’s beard hair than discuss Minecraft. I would rather eat fossilized cat turds than talk about Minecraft.

This must be how my mom felt when I wouldn’t peel my ass off the floor and stop playing Nintendo/Sega, and that makes me uncomfortable. This is it. This is really it. I have become my mother. Thanks a lot, Minecraft.

Posted on January 19, 2018 by Holdin' Holden 1 Comment
Holdin' Holden

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  • Thanks for the laugh. 🙂 The Minecraft talk is exhausting, and never ends! My older boys (now 12 and 14) still talk about it, and if it isn’t about that, it’s about some other bullshit technology that I don’t understand. lol Can’t we just talk about what they did in PE or in Mrs. Neuber’s class that day!?