Dear Fortnite – Stop Tearing My Family Apart

Dear Fortnite,

You must think you’re clever, holding my kids hostage like this. Bringing them together briefly, lulling everyone into a temporary holding pattern before burrowing your way into their entranced brains and robotic fingers.

I admit, your video game has sky-rocketed to full-blown addiction status in my house. In fact, an all-encompassing game like this hasn’t caused so much commotion and drama in my family since the 80s when my brother and I engaged in a competitive bout of Hungry Hungry Hippos. All fun and games until one of us took a rogue white marble to the eye.

You should be aware that parents everywhere are uniting to overthrow the power that Fortnite exerts over our zombified kids. We are forming unofficial support groups on social media as I write this – openly commiserating about the plight of our offspring.

I first learned of you approximately a fortnight ago. My kids were huddled together in a refreshingly civil group, involved in a serious discussion of some sort. I heard the word Fortnite uttered and smiled to myself naively. My background in English literature was finally seeping its way into their hearts and minds. At long last, my surreptitious attempts at leaving Jane Austen and Charlotte Bronte books on my daughters’ bookshelves were paying off.

“What is Fortnite?” one of them asked.
I was in the kitchen making dinner. “Fortnight? It’s an old-fashioned term for two weeks,” I called out. Bemused, I shook my head – next they’d be asking me what bairn meant.

I was met with three stony looks of confusion. Could I be mistaken? It had been a while since I’d boned up on my Jane Eyre. “Well, I guess it could mean ten days – I’d have to google it . . .”
“Mom. Pleeeease!”

Then it dawned on me. We were talking about two separate things.

Oh snap – talk about deja vu. Suddenly it was 1987 and my mom was giving me hell for calling my friend’s new haircut bad.

I immediately took to google and made the following unsettling discovery: that you, Fortnite, are an infestation of a video game, worming your way into our homes through our computers – turning our kids into somnambulating gamers. Incidentally – I also clarified that fortnight is indeed a two-week period – just so you know.

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But what you don’t realize, dear Fortnite, is that as a family – we have weathered far worse than what you have to offer. We made it through the Silly Bandz situation back in 08, we lived through the Rainbow Loom craze and came out the other side. We survived Minecraft mania, Hatchimal hysteria and Fingerling frenzy without batting an eye. As a collective nation, we have even endured a passing passion for Pokemon Go and are all the better because of it.

What I’m saying to you is that as a family, we will ride out this Fortnite fever – no sweat. And soon you will be nothing more than a brief blip lobbed back into cyberspace.

Indeed, you were nothing short of impressive at the outset. Not many games possess the necessary siren song to attract all three of my brood – considering there is a six-year age gap between the two book ends. Somehow, your charms managed to seduce a teen, a tween and a scruffy kid – encouraging them to huddle together, talk strategy, engage in spirited discourse – with you at the very epicentre.

But it didn’t take long for this illusion of sibling camaraderie to evaporate. I mean, sibling alliances can only go so far when each child hopes to achieve complete computer domination.

As my clan divided, the triangle weakened. Banter turned to bickering; in-house fighting became vicious. Soon all three were tearing at the computer and each other like hungry hyenas. Curse words were uttered, insults were hurled – I actually over heard the statement: “Oh yeah? Well you’re ugly and have no friends.” And that was on you, Fortnite.

Or was it?

All this time, I had been under the misguided impression that you were the one in control. That you, Fortnite, had taken my darling children hostage while all I could do was stand by wringing my hands in defeat.

But these events marked the beginning of your end – the dawning of your downward spiral – in my house anyway. Because this was when I saw you for what you truly are: a series of fast-moving, fast-talking pixels. Nothing more than a momentary fad making its way through.

I had the power to break your spell – in fact, the power was in me all along.

Never had my maternal justice been so swift and unflinching; so evenly wielded and readily heeded. Crying at the keyboard? The computer’s off limits for an hour. Hissed and whispered insults? Computer’s gone for the rest of the day. Out and out combat? Make it a week – two weeks! Fortnite, thanks to you – my children were learning an important lesson in ironic homophones.

What you may not realize, dear Fortnite, is that unlike Monopoly and Sorry! and our ragged decks of cards – all tucked away and slightly dusty – just waiting patiently for the next bout of boredom or rainy day – you won’t have a cozy shelf to house you. So I suggest you embrace your moment to shine – because soon you will be relegated back to the ether from whence you came.

You see, my dear sweet Fortnite, you are no match for me.