When I worked as a substitute teacher, a 10-year-old boy for the first time found out he could tell stories by depicting his escapades in “Grand Theft Auto”. Only, the school wouldn’t allow him. The substitute had other ideas.
In the late 90s, I worked for two semesters at a school in Stockholm. Letting loose a 20-year-old with hubris about what he was capable of handling inside a school may not have been the wisest decision from that school board, but I think it worked out.
One day, I was asked to hold Swedish lessons for a fourth grade whose teacher was ill. For the first time on the job, I was nervous. Normally, I taught history to kids that were four-five years older and like Captain Picard I’m not very good with kids.
The night before, I was close to panic. What was I to do in class?
The first hour, we read Swedish rock lyrics and I had the pupils interpret what they thought the lyrics were about (the result was later used in a magazine I wrote for, good way of maximizing result from minimum effort).
The second hour, I asked them to write a short story about anything they wanted. Something they cared about, something that made them happy.
One brat who was one of the class’ troublemakers refused. He threw erasers and screamed.
“I caaaaan’t”, he screamed. “I hate writing!”
I asked him what in the world he enjoyed most of all.
“Playing GTA”, he said, looking at me mischievously.
This was the first edition of “Grand Theft Auto” with terrible overhead view and far from the cineastic, realistic gangster paradise in today’s versions.
“Brilliant, write about it”, I replied.
He looked at me in amazement. Playing GTA was his way of being dangerous. His teacher had yelled at him when he told stories from the game in front of other pupils. School had been in contact with his mum who had forbidden him to play the game, although he had continued to get some hours into it now and then on his big brother’s computer while home alone.
“Write about it”, I urged and the boy sat in silence, writing for the remainder of the lesson. He submitted a hardcore (ah well…) story about stealing cars, running over pedestrians and engaging in violent behaviour. Okay, I can’t remember it in detail but it was the kind of story I’m sure his teacher would’ve phoned the parents over.
I didn’t care. If that’s what it takes to get the trouble-maker to remain seated and write, it works well with me.
I came to think of this the other day when I read that German police calls for a ban on violent videogames and realized how absurd it is that nothing has changed since 1997 when the teacher heard the boy brag about his adventures in Liberty City.
In the latest episode of brilliant podcast “A Life Well Wasted”, Robert Ashley discusses how videogames more than anything else spawns creativity outside of their sphere. He talks to cosplayers, fanfiction writers and others who have used gaming as a catalyst to create something.
I think my pupil was a living example of just that, and I sincerelly hope he’s working for some game developer today, doing 3D models of Uzis.
