Poké Problem
I like nerds: smart, inquisitive, well-read, and otherwise interesting humans. But not all nerds are created equally. It is one thing to nerd out on the scientific study of mathematic principles or obsess over the perfection of a musical composition. It is quite another to pin your life on the incessant organization of a cartoon character card game. Yet here I find myself. Not in the company of a young Stephen Hawking but awash in an ocean of Pokémon cards wielded by a 9-year-old super nerd.
9 discovered a dusty old binder full of Pokémon cards in the garage and has been spiraling down a rabbit hole ever since. This does not bode well for his present or future. Coding enthusiasm gave us Bill Gates and Microsoft. Pokémon passion has given us non-functioning 37-year-olds who go to gaming chairs instead of jobs.
The garage discovery was his first hit of the Pokémon smack, and he fully is off the wagon. 9 is not new to addiction. Two years ago, he was bewitched by something called Bakugan, lumps of Chinese plastic that unfurl into tiny fighting figures. We own approximately 7000. Discarded Bakugans overwhelm our home and may soon overwhelm our landfills to the point that life on Mars is no longer a dream but a necessity. But 9’s interest in Bakugan has gone the way of the dodo. Enter the empire of Pokémon.
As his Pokémon infatuation has gained steam, I assumed that the mania surrounding these cards worthless to humanity must be shared by his classmates. I was wrong.
“Do other kids at school like Pokémon?”
“No.”
“Did they ever like Pokémon? “
“Not really.”
Warning flags began to fly. 9 is on a nerd island alone trying to haggle a trade for Fuecoco to an uninterested audience. I fear he is on the fast track to being picked last for kickball.
If you just asked yourself, “What the hell is a Fuecoco?”, join the club. 9 continues to barrage us with facts and questions about Pokémon characters. We neither know nor care. And we have lost the ability to feign interest.
“What is your favorite Pokémon?”
“I don’t have one.”
This is as delicate and accurate as we can be. At our lack of participation, 9 becomes hyper annoyed and vexed.
“You have to! You HAVE TO have a favorite!”
At his insistence I have selected a favorite character in hopes that this will quell the conversation. I selected Shartzard. Shartzard is not a real Pokémon character, but a rather hilarious word play that borrows vocabulary from the 3rd grade toilet humor lexicon. “It’s CHARZARD!” he howls. Bastardizing the sacred names of fictional Japanese anime characters is something he cannot tolerate.
9 has made a lifelong commitment to the ongoings of the Charzard Pokémon. For the uninformed, Charzard is a dual type Fire/Flying Pokémon introduced in Generation 1. It evolves from Charmeleon starting at level 36 and is the final form of Charmander. Charzard is a draconic bipedal Pokémon that primarily inhabits mountains and valleys, such as the Charicific Valley in Johto. If for any reason you already knew this, please drive immediately to the nearest Betty Ford Center.
9 placed the Mega Charzard V Star card numero uno on his list for Santa. It was the ONLY thing he wanted. He thinks the cards are valuable and that his collection is worth mountains of cash. I can neither confirm nor deny this. But this financial discussion leads me to recall another popular landfill item, Beanie Babies.
How much are his cards worth? I think the whole lot is worth the 45-minute drive to the disposal site for hazardous materials. I made the gross error of purchasing the Pokémon items on his Christmas list for Santa, so I have now aided and abetted this mounting disaster. As though we were not rife with Poké shit before, we are now in it up to our eyeballs. We are currently the duly embarrassed owners of a Poké calendar, multiple Poké posters, Poké drinking glasses, Poké lunchbox, Poké action figures and Poké trivia books. I drew the line at any further clothing.
His Poké fashion is a problem. He returns to our home every Monday from his other abode clad in a Pokémon character T shirt that hangs to his knees. I recently spent time with his 3rd grade class as the “math helper” which afforded me some reconnaissance.
*Before you lose it in gales of laughter that I functioned as an instructor of mathematics, let me say this. It was only for brief periods of time, and I think permanent damage was minimal.
While inside the 3rd grade, I took note of kid attire. There was not a single character emblazoned tee in sight. For his own health and safety, I determined that an extreme Nike pivot was necessary lest he be sucker punched in the restroom for dressing like a moron.
As for the four of us living alongside the Poké nerd, we have reached our limit. The almost constant Poké jabber has necessitated the institution of the “Poké Pause,” an official time out on all things Pokémon. Calling for a Poké Pause doesn’t always work, and we have been forced to threaten him with life in an orphanage. Bless his heart, he did not believe us. But these are not empty threats we are lobbing. If this mayhem continues, someone will indeed be living elsewhere. Chances are this will be me inside a nervous hospital.
I am uncertain how to help him detach from this horrific addiction. I am exploring deprogrammers in our area and perhaps a soccer team. We need to channel this energy into something more productive. Otherwise, we may be left with a kid who grows up to work as a taste tester for glue. Or worse, one who lives at home.