This chapter is for you, or at least the future you. April has been busy for both mom and myself. We’re each very distracted by our separate all-consuming projects. Mom’s production of Jesus Christ Superstar is opening this weekend, which means this is “tech week”: the week she gets the kinks out of the lighting, sound, staging, etc. It’s also why she’s been home after bedtime each night.
I’ve been having my own tech week, preparing for our first Tidepool alpha release. Though I’ve shown each new change to you and mom for weeks now, showing another 90 people is another matter. I’m afraid what everyone will think, just like your mom. We’re both scrambling through last minute details that most people won’t notice.
Throughout our distractions, you’ve been wonderfully self-entertained, playing made-up games, Minecraft, and occasionally Tidepool. As I watch you play on the computer, I recognize the same determination that I use in my own work. Many parents would restrict your “electronic time,” but not us. As you narrate your actions like the YouTube screencasts you watch, as you build zoos and traps and underwater lairs, as you learn about mods and tricks … you’re learning about *learning*, which is arguably more important than anything you’ll learn in a structured group setting.
I could support this controversial thought with my work in the last seven years, but instead I’ll point further back to my own childhood. First with photography, then with games, then with computers … I was obsessed with my projects. They’re what I thought of when I woke. I’d read magazines on the gym stage instead of playing kickball with my friends. I’d race home to my darkroom or my computer to try the next thing. And now, I see in you the same drive, the same self-motivated interest. It makes me proud.
You’re learning the jobs that don’t yet exist, just as I did, when computers were new. Your future is beyond our imagining, and this will prepare you.
You still have to learn math though. Sorry.