By Jim Hagarty
Apparently “Wii” doesn’t include “Mii.”
I was looking forward all week to my son heading out for a few days houseboating with friends far away. It meant I could once again gain admission to the fabulous mancave my son has fashioned in our backyard.
The shed is off limits to me when occupied by its creator. Even though I built it years before he was born. Since its transformation from extreme clutter collection depot to nicely turned out hangout for people many decades younger than I, my presence within its four walls has not been required.
But when the usual occupants of said shed are hours away, floating along on some lake, my presence is not only permitted, it is essential.
Located in the shed is a nice big TV hooked up to various gaming machines, one of which, a Wii, is the perfect conduit for shows on Netflix.
Five minutes after the houseboaters left our driveway, I was situated in front of the TV, all the fixin’s I would need carefully lined up on the table beside the couch. Four days of nothing but Netflix stretched out before me. I turned on the TV, then the Wii and …
Nothing.
I tried a few desperate repairs.
Nothing.
I frantically texted my son who at that moment was en route. What is wrong with the Wii, I wanted to know. “Nothing,” came the reply. “I was just watching Netflix before my ride came.”
That was Friday at noon. My efforts at Wii revival continued all Friday, all day Saturday, all day Sunday and for a half day on Monday. There were wires everywhere, plugs unplugged and plugged, buttons pressed, machines reset. My final resort might have been to completely disassemble the shed and start over.
Monday afternoon, my son returned.
“I don’t know what you’re going to do about the Wii,” I told him when he finally came into the house.
“What are you talking about?” he asked. “It’s working fine.”
Another father might be suspicious there is a Dad Disabling Key I don’t know anything about. But not me, of course.
I guess the answer is the Wii is for thee and not for me.
What else could it be?
