Dad Games.
There are a lot of them, and I'm not just talking about the ones where you use your violent
tendencies to protect a precious little egg of a child.
I’m talking about the stuff dad gets up to when you’re at swim class.
Dad can manage a virtual football team, clean out a virtual garage, or chill in a virtual
wood shop.
A dad’s delight.
But for us non-dads, do these games still hit?
I am not a dad.
I’m a childless millennial gamer who makes YouTube videos and I still text my mom when I have
a tummy ache.
Can this growing genre resonate with me?
We’ve talked about the daddification of games, but what about the daddification of
Patrick?
So I downloaded five premium dad games and gave myself an hour each to review them, based
on FUN FACTOR and FATHERLY INSIGHT.
(twanging music)
Trains.
They’re strong.
They’re long.
They have the awe-inspiring mechanical might of trucks, but they are bound to a rigid track
system that requires careful logistical management.
So it’s no wonder Dads like them.
When it comes to exemplifying the relationship between Power and Responsibility, Trains make
Spider-man look like a little piece of shit.
Confronting the power of a train damn near killed Spider-man, and it wasn’t even a big train.
(Spider-man grunting and yelling as he is overwhelmed by the power of Train)
(emotional, moving orchestral music)
When Spider-man neglects his responsibilities for an evening, an uncle dies.
When a train conductor slips up, the entire Eastern seaboard has to go without wheat,
livestock, and delicious sulfuric acid.
In Train Sim World 2, I am the conductor, who is the train's dad!
I gratefully complete the tutorial, because I understand that without rules, this magnificent
tool is a weapon of mass destruction.
I gently bump into the freight car to engage the couplers.
I carefully replace the fuel nozzle and the fuel cap.
My first job is to move two engines 1.9 miles down the track to couple with another formation.
I fire the reverser, release the brake, and I throttle up.
I leave the bell on for safety.
For the first time since I entered Train Sim World 2, I am free of responsibility.
I take in the Pennsylvania wilderness.
And then I check my phone, for literally 10 seconds.
(menacing, electronic drone of a musical cue, indicating DANGER)
(percussive tension ratchets up)
The game asks me if I’d like to relinquish this power and responsibility to someone more
capable, and against my latent dad instincts, I accept.
My replacements allow me to linger on the train, but I’m not allowed to sit down in
any of the important seats.
The only thing left to do is enjoy the ride.
And that’s when I realize: With great power comes great responsibility.
But if I share power and responsibility, there is also serenity.
(the emotive call of the Violin...)
(...fades away...)
(a more mournful dirge begins)
I, Dad, am the steward of the lawn.
I have an avatar who looks like me.
I use a roaring carriage full of blades to bring evenness and order to a system that
tends towards chaos.
The lawn is my private wilderness to conquer and conquer again.
And that conquest is a methodical, meditative task.
I decree that the best strategy is to begin on the outskirts and drive in an inward loop.
The feedback is immediately fulfilling.
I feel the satisfying rumble of the engine in my controller.
I see the contrast between my tidy, fresh-mowed stripe and the adjacent shag.
With every lap, I transform that ugliness.
I spiral inward.
And that’s when the dread begins.
I start to notice the bits that I missed.
Tufts of grass, like little flags, planted out where I swerved off my perfect course.
Doubling back now would be a dangerous disruption to the plan.
But the grass doesn’t forget, and neither do I. I go around and around and see my mistakes
over and over again.
They get further away with each pass, but they’re still there.
It’s here that Lawn Mowing Simulator "cuts" to the core of what I imagine is the
Dad Experience.
The Dad has this massive engine to cultivate the delicate growing things of his domain.
But as my Stiga Estate 20-84 H taught me, it's hard to wield power with perfect precision.
Each unintended, untended tuft is another time the Wife had to remind me of my own mother’s birthday.
This trampled flower is the time my son told me he wanted a doll and I laughed.
After I reach the center, I hastily try to chase down those stragglers.
But fixing old mistakes is embarrassing, and my haphazard damage control proves that my
strategy was inherently stupid from the start.
My methodical conquest of the lawn was a lie that I told myself, and I’m ashamed.
I imagine my family peeking out of the window and shaking their heads in disappointment.
And with the mounting evidence that lawns and lawn care represent an unnecessary threat
to the earth itself, my dread deepens.
Even If I were a perfect steward to the lawn, I would be steward to a doomed kingdom.
Plus the camera controls are kind of finicky and it’s boring.
I don’t have a house, a car, a BBQ grill, or a yard littered with children’s toys.
Some games fulfill the wish of simply having and enjoying those things.
PowerWash Simulator breezes past that fantasy and forces you to confront the reality that
all of those nice things are destined to become absolutely encrusted in grime.
And it’s my job to deal with it.
As Dad, I level an arsenal of ultra-powered water guns against a dirty world.
And that feels really good.
It’s quieter and more intuitive than Lawn Mowing Simulator, and the visual feedback
is miles better.
Lawn Mowing Simulator is about forcing a chaotic system into compliance, and the result always
looks the same.
Trim, flat grass.
But in PowerWash Simulator, I am restoring things to their natural state.
Sweeping away the grime can reveal colorful plastic, wood grain, stucco, or shiny chrome.
But at the end, I don’t watch my family enjoy their freshly scoured yard.
I pack up and I move to the next broken town, like a powerwash Yojimbo.
Would my children rather play with me in the dirt, or play alone in a yard where everything
is shiny and good?
It’s not for me to say.
I’m going to the playground.
I hear the dinosaur there is absolutely filthy.
(upbeat jangly guitar song finishes with a flourish)
The link between fish and fathers is millennia old, starting when Christ asked HIS heavenly
father to unlock the unlimited fish glitch so he could impress a congregation of 5,000.
Modern fishing combines the primal fatherly instinct to hunt wild game for the family,
and the 20th century dad instinct to spend roughly $40,000 to do something
that you can also do with a tree branch and some string.
I download Bassmaster Fishing 2022 hoping to experience calm isolation, the sound of
lapping water, and maybe a nibble on my line.
I boot up the character creator, and I’m able to slap together an avatar that looks
a fair bit like me, ensuring my immersion.
The only problem is that my preferred hair length is only available in platinum blonde,
and the fashion options highlight an aspect of tactical, slick dadliness that doesn’t
feel quite right.
I look like I’m gonna go play in a DoTA tournament on the top of Mount Washington.
And as I pull out from the dock, that performance polyester feeling is inescapable.
My boat is loud and fast and shiny.
A computer display shows me where the fish live and exactly how chunky they are.
But it’s the scenery that troubles me the most.
This is not nature.
This is a Dad’s playground, but it’s the wrong kind of dad.
Slate-grey summer homes cast out perfectly manicured lawns whose artificial banks drop
precipitously into the water.
There are no natural buffer zones here, and my lawn care expertise tells me that nitrogen,
phosphorus, and fertilizer runoffs are sliding right into the watershed.
These idiots are asking for an algae bloom, and they deserve it.
But the fish don’t.
I drive my boat further and further into the lake, trying to find something that feels
like the nature I know.
I cruise past millions of dollars in boat docks and concrete embankments.
Eventually I find a quiet cove where I can be the sort of Dad I think I want to be.
I cast and reel.
Eventually I get a bite!
The fish and I have a little battle.
I land it, and then I throw it back.
I don’t think I want this any more.
(melancholy piano tune fades out...)
Golf is a bit like backwards fishing.
Rather than traversing great distances across wetness, you trudge through verdant fields.
And instead of using a special stick to coax an animal (fish) from its natural habitat
(wet), you use one to escort an inorganic object (ball) into its manmade home (hole).
Golf, like the other dad hobbies, is methodical, meditative, and expensive.
But unlike the others, it’s not solitary.
Golfing, as I understand it, is a social ritual where dads can connect with other dads while
exploring a world of holes.
Winning matters less than the experience of intra-paternal bonding.
“Lawn’s looking great this year!
I planted clover!”
“Ya know any good contractors?”
“My wife wants to lease a Miata!
Can you believe it?
A Miata!!”
I hope that The Golf Club can make me feel less alone in my Dadly endeavor.
So I boot it up, and I create my avatar.
Once again, the default option looks a lot like me!
Perfect!
The gameplay is a simple matter of timing.
I power up my swings and then release them at just the right time for maximum accuracy.
The sound of the ball clattering into the hole is a soothing reward.
(gentle ball clattering into the hole!)
Now I’m ready to meet the other dads.
But my first matchmaking partner isn’t looking for conversation.
No questions asked, just anonymous hole action.
Another partner drops in and out without even exchanging pleasantries.
Not even “BabyJuggy08” is interested in making a friend.
I return to the Pro Shop to ponder.
Is a dad destined to be alone, even amongst other dads?
If not even the trials of golf can get us to open up to each other, what can?
I buy a hat to make myself feel better.
I queue up one last time.
My performative dad talking points have all struck out.
I’ve tried talking like the dad in my head, but it hasn’t worked.
All that’s left to do is be me.
And to my surprise, he responds
(a tentatively glad acoustic guitar)
By the end of our game, we’re exchanging genuine compliments.
I feel a little more tightly swaddled in the brotherhood of dads, and all it took was doing
the thing that felt un-dadly to me.
Vulnerability.
Why did I think that sharing my fears and insecurities was unbecoming of a father?
That’s a question to unpack in another review.
(a self-assured woodwind over gentle acoustic strings)
The Golf Club was the game that taught me that being a Dad doesn’t have to be lonely.
That too much power can take you off the course.
That sometimes hats can make you feel nice.
Dadland is a conflicted place.
It’s lonely, peaceful, powerful, healing, rules-driven, serene, isolating, and responsible.
And those are all resonant feelings, even for a non-dad like me.
Aaaaanyways, this gutter ain't gonna power wash itself, champ.
(our confident woodwind takes us out to the credits)
(a rollicking little acoustic guitar loop!)
(that was nice)