Grand Theft Grammy

Tis the season for going to the movies. I have three grandsons I want to take to one of the new wonder movies out at this time. Maybe the new Star Wars movie. When I asked those who’ve seen the movie, they raved about it but were hesitant to recommend it for my two youngest grandsons—Andy who is four and his brother, Evan, who is six. I agreed that the plot may be too complicated and the battle effects too fierce.

That does not sound like an Andy movie. Though he DID con me into letting him play Grand Theft Auto a few weeks ago.

I was pretty sure he wasn't allowed to play it, but when asked he said, Yes, I am.

So I watched this sleazy dude who lives in a trailer court try to get out of bed, dress, leave the trailer, and get on his motorcycle. Then he couldn't drive out of the yard in the desert where he lived. I wondered why this guy was acting like a 4-yr-old. OHHHHHH, there's a 4-yr-old at the controls, I reminded myself.

Just about that time, the guy stumbles into a growling dog and says what I think was a curse word, but maybe SHOOT I thought to myself, until Andy grabbed the remote and muted the volume reassuring me that, We don't need the sound, Grammy.

And I was pretty sure he should not play this game. But by then I was really interested in how this guy was gonna survive, since I've never played GTA myself.

Then, Sleazy Dude goes to someplace with posters of naked women on the walls or maybe he went back into his own trailer, and once again I started to ask, Are you SURE you are supposed to play this game? But before the SURE came out of my mouth he had changed the scene and was shopping for a new vehicle. And a new character as it turns out.

 Things went along well for a while with the new character who lives in a plush Hollywood cliff-side home. Andy gave me a tour of the house and the pool and the garage and the patio view. WOW! Vicarious living through Play Station I thought, and made a note to add GTA to our Play Station at home so I could visit more Hollywood houses. Oh, and Andy skillfully left the scantily clad woman in the master bedroom to go down to the living room, out the front door, and hop into the amazing open air sports car.

What d'ya know, we hear the garage door open--of the actual house we are in; and I'm pretty sure his mother is home. Andy shut the game down and ran to greet his mother. Usually he is not that eager to welcome her home and I KNEW, with absolute certainty, that he was not supposed to play GTA. So, I said, Hi. Andy and I were playing....

But a with a force greater than any 4-yr-old has ever mustered, Andy clamped his tiny little hand over my mouth, secured it with the other hand and pushed me back onto the sofa. MMMMMmmmmmmphphphphmmmm, I tried to tell his mother. I was laughing so hard I couldn't have spoken even without the tiny palms locked over my lips.

I tried again later to tell his mother but again he tackled me and smothered me with his little hands. When he'd left the room, I asked her if he could play something called Grand Theft Auto. OF COURSE NOT, his mother said, not in a whisper.

Oh, I said, I didn't think so. She gave me a look that said, WHY did you let him?