The Lesson of Power Ranger Tag

The only thing my 5-year-old son, Morgan, liked about kindergarten was playing with his new friends at recess.

"But they always play Power Rangers tag," he said as I tucked him into bed one night. "And I don't like action figure games."

"Why not?" I asked as I snuggled next to him on his narrow bed.

I wanted to take advantage of my son's opening up like this. Usually when I ask Morgan about his day I get grunts or monosyllabic responses.

"I don't know how to play Power Ranger tag," he said, adjusting his pillow to make room for me. "I just like regular tag."

Despite his distress, I felt a rush of pride. We've prohibited gunplay and network television in our house and banned violent computer games. Both sons attended a preschool where they learned to resolve conflicts with their words.

By raising two boys with limited exposure to violence I believe I'm doing what's best for them as well as contributing to a healthier society.

But now I was also struck with a different feeling. My son was being excluded from kindergarten playground games. No one told him he couldn't play, but thanks to me he was on the outskirts because he didn't know how to imitate action figures.

I pictured my boy standing off to the side, or playing by himself on the playground rings on his first days of school.

It wasn't that Morgan had never played violent games. He and his older brother held up finger guns, paper guns and cardboard guns, and crashed their plastic animals into each other, making them fall on the floor and die loud, gruesome deaths.

But he wasn't joining his friends at recess because he didn't know how to play this game.

Should I cave in and buy the fighting figures or hold out with the hope of a peaceful future? I knew the figures were never going away. Power Rangers, Pokemon, Spider Man. I'd have to find some compromise, some middle ground.

The next Saturday, Morgan and I stopped at a neighbor's yard sale. His allowance jingled in his pocket as he rummaged through a cardboard box full of action figures — hulking muscle men with brightly painted costumes striking fighting poses.

Morgan looked up at me with a resigned look.

"Mommy, could I buy these?"

He sighed.

I could tell by his voice he expected me to launch into my violent toy spiel. Instead I did something else. I told him as long as he didn't use them on any person or the dog, yes, he could buy them.

He bought three, and with a huge grin he stuffed them into his pockets. He played with them for a couple of weeks, and then tossed them into his toy bin where they gradually sank to the bottom.

A few days later I asked Morgan about recess again. I pictured him playing alone and looking lost, but he quickly assured me he was playing with his friends.

"Did you learn the Power Rangers game?"

"No."

"What did you do?

"I asked them to play regular tag."

He looked at me with a bemused smile.

"And guess what, Mommy? They did."