Now before you go and think this an advertisement for adult pampers, check the spelling.  It’s called “Wii”, that home game craze every family owns for entertainment (except mine of course).  I remember a time in my life when video games held my attention.  I was obsessed with the game, Doom, and subsequent upgrades.  Then life came along, kids, a little thing called responsibility, and gaming took whatever form entertained the kids.  Doom was not on the approved list.  Now that the kids have flown the coop, I haven’t touched a game pad of any kind for two decades, and never felt a need to rediscover anything that keeps me from writing.

While together with my daughters over the holidays, they introduced me to Wii. My first reaction was … it’s a kid’s thing?  I mean, really, it lacked serious graphics popular in today’s gaming community, it’s character icons a throwback to Weebleville. Doom had better resolution in the nineties.  And what a creative name for it … wee … something toddlers scream when riding the plastic horsey at grocery stores.

You know where this is going.

Being the guileful girls my daughters are, they broke me in easy by appealing to the male chromosome with a sport program and an object most men are comfortable with … a remote control.  Oh, what the heck, I wasn’t going anywhere and the martinis were good. They plugged in a bowling game, later I graduated to tennis and basketball, all to the rallying call of “Dad, let me refresh your drink,” during intermissions.

Then … they plugged in Nintendo’s Just Dance. Sorry, this dude doesn’t dig Japanese style dance machine, or anything that smells like it.  But Dad, you can pick your song.  Look, it’s got oldies from the eighties. Nice try.  I haven’t had that many cocktails.  The curmudgeon in me threw a flag on the play, personal foul, twenty minutes in time-out. That’s when I got the big lip, pouty faces.  Even my wife joined in with robust ribbing.

The girls ignored me, cranked the volume to feel the beat, and line-danced to the music while I stewed on the couch.  It didn’t take long.  Soon, my foot tapped, the knee bounced, and a smile crinkled my face watching the ladies jiggle-hop and scream with laughter.  On song four, they collectively reached for my hand and I caved like a nylon tent in acid rain.

Out came the Saturday-Night-Fever moves.  Memories of a carefree youth conducted my every move, nary a thought of potential back trauma the following day.  It was ugly. It was hilarious.  It was loads of fun.

I guess you’re never too old to Wii.  Even if you’re not a kid, you’ll soon become one after a few minutes of gyrating hips and waving arms. Just … leave the camera stashed away, promise it won’t show up on YouTube, and don’t ever play the hokey-pokey.

How about you?  Have you Wii’d lately?