Something deeply unusual happened today.
Nothing caught fire.
No one was launched through the air via experimental siege equipment.
There were no taco-related incidents, which statistically speaking should be impossible in this household.
It is, apparently, National Retro Gaming Day, and for reasons I cannot begin to explain, this is one of the rare holidays that the Gremlins have decided to celebrate in a wholesome and socially acceptable manner.
I don’t trust it.
But I am enjoying it.
Barry is sitting cross-legged in front of the television like the gentlest creature ever to exist, holding the controller with a level of reverence normally reserved for ancient artefacts. Barry, of course, has the energy of someone who would apologize to a door if he bumped into it.
Every time he wins a level he softly says, “Oh! Neat!”
Then he waits patiently while someone else has a turn. A saint. An absolute dote.
Dennis has not attempted to weaponize the console.
This alone qualifies today as a minor miracle.
Normally Dennis approaches electronics the way a medieval engineer approaches a castle wall: with intent and optimism and an extensive array of explosives.
He has previously built:
A functioning trebuchet from rubber bands, a spoon and tongue depressors.
Rocket boots made from two hair dryers, promotional tote bags and questionable wiring
A “strategic burrito deployment system” that I will not elaborate on.
Today, however, Dennis is quietly fixing the controller cable. The one that actually needs fixing. And there is no MIG welder in sight.
I repeat.
Dennis is repairing something instead of converting it into a siege engine.
I am monitoring this closely.
Maude is glamorous.
As always.
Retro gaming has not diminished this in any way. She is playing like someone attending a gala who just happens to be holding a controller.
Perfect posture.
Perfect eyeliner.
Perfect disdain for pixels. She loses a life, sighs elegantly, and says:
“Well that was rude.”
Kevin, the very small gremlin, is sitting beside me on the sofa, cuddling a turnip.
This is not unusual.
He got up, placed the turnip next to the console as what I can only assume is an offering of emotional support vegetables.
Whenever someone wins a level he gently pats the turnip approvingly.
Kevin is doing his best.
Retro gaming is a lot for him emotionally.
Gary is the quiet elder of the group.
Grandpa vibes. He is neither a grandpa or particularly older than the others, however, he has the vibes.
Fixer of things.
The console flickered earlier, which caused several seconds of collective alarm.
Gary approached slowly.
He studied the screen.
He stroked the monitor with one large orange paw like a mechanic greeting an old friend.
Paused.
Then delivered one perfectly calibrated thwack to the side.
The picture immediately corrected itself.
Gary nodded once.
Grandpa vibes.
Wisdom.
The console hasn't flickered since.
Duncan is narrating the entire game in his thick Scottish accent that grows stronger whenever things get intense.
“RIGHT THEN. YE’VE GOT THE COIN. GWAN.”
He has his belly (coat) button proudly visible and is deeply invested in the outcome of every level.
He cheers like someone watching international sport.
And me?
I am sitting on the sofa.
With a hot cup of tea.
A still-hot cup of tea.
No one has bumped into me.
No one has ignited anything.
I have not sustained second-degree burns.
No one has been catapulted.
There has been no unanticipated cheese.
No tacos have broken the sound barrier.
For once, the Gremlins are simply playing a video game together like a perfectly normal household.
It is peaceful.
It is wholesome.
It is deeply DEEPLY suspicious.
But I will take it.
Because tomorrow Dennis will almost certainly build a rocket-powered console cart, Kevin will attempt to gift someone a turnip during high-speed gameplay, and Duncan will shout tactical advice while Gary quietly fixes the inevitable damage.
But today?
Today we have retro games.
And tea.
And nobody flying through the air.
Which, frankly, is as close to being in control as I ever expect to get.