by Michael Finley
Copyright © 1997 by Michael Finley

Yesterday, he veered from software to hardware. I found him sprawled on the floor intently studying a Best Buy circular from the Sunday Pioneer Press. Though spacey at other times, he is always super-intent when he is playing, and scheming.

"Dad," he said, "this year what I would really like for Christmas is a --" he paused to read the ad. "A Blaster 3D Video card."

There it was -- a request for a peripheral. A card that you stick in back of the computer. Not something you can play with directly, but something invisible you play through. The end of this was to be able to play Shadows of the Empire, the newest Star Wars game from LucasArts. But, still...

I was reflecting on this rite of passage while he filled me in on the depth of his dreams. "Because, if I get the 3D video card, we can use the old 486 and I won't have to get a new computer," he said, pointing fondly at the system Best Buy had on sale, including monitor and color printer, all for $1000.

He assured me that all he wanted for Christmas, indeed, in life, was this video card. Even if he knew in advance it would be under the tree.

"Of course, if I got a new computer," he ever so delicately said, "it wouldn't have to be, like, a really good one. Maybe just a megabyte is all it would need."

"A megabyte of what?" I inquired.

"Or maybe a gigabyte," he corrected himself. He isn't quite clear on the difference between memory and storage space.

I could see he was in an agony, so we drove to Best Buy. There, the salesman pointed out that the 3D card required 90 MHz chip speed. Our upgraded 486 peaked at 83 MHz. My son looked at the man in the crewcut, his plan crumpling from the pressure. Worse, the $1,000 system, his machinus ex dei, was only offered during a 4-hour sale the day before.

My son began to weep in the Best Buy store. He is an intense boy, who focuses all his mind on solving problems. When the problem defeats his plan, it tears him apart.

Getting into the car, I try to cheer him up, then I veer off into my own craziness, reviling George Lucas for creating games that always require the latest gizmos, knowing full well the misery this must create in the hearts of girls and boys everywhere. Jonathan, lovely boy that he is, took my side against Lucas. I was touched. It was like going against God.

I turned into another superstore, CompUSA. "Let's see what they have here," I said.

Inside, it was the same assortment of sound and video cards, all requiring a 90 MHz chip. For the heck of it, we wandered the new computer aisle, noting plaintively that only the expensive systems offered 3D video.

I approached an owly-looking fellow perched on a stool behind the memory counter, and explained our dilemma. You know the kind -- an ultra-techie, with eyes that circled continuously, like the line on a radar screen, and a sly, techno-crazed grin.

"Yes, you're up the creek with that chip," he said, grinning. "You've got motherboard problems. I could sell you one." It would cost an arm and two legs."

Then he leaned over and whispered, very conspiratorially. "But what I'd do in your place," he said, "is take it to this custom shop over in Stadium Village." Doing motherboard upgrades is all they do, he said. "They'll pull the guts out of your box, put in new guts -- presto." He sat back and chuckled to himself. He enjoyed knowing everything, you could tell.

I looked at my son and asked if he understood what the man had said. He stared at the clerk, open-mouthed, waiting for the other shoe to drop -- the other shoe that adults, especially adults talking about computers, always drop. The one that goes, "On the other hand ..."

But there was no other shoe. The guesstimated cost was quite reasonable. And we could even have them put in the 3D card.

The look on my boy's face was like that of a prisoner on death row, reprieved by the governor. I thanked the owl on the stool and we exited.

And oh, his excitement as we drove away. I haven't brought the computer in yet for the operation. That other shoe could still drop. It may cost more than we guessed.

But I'm going to do it. Because how often does a dad get a chance to buy his son a new universe on the cheap, and then toss him the keys?

Michael Finley is co-author with Harvey Robbins of THE NEW WHY TEAMS DON'T WORK.Visit Michael Finley at his home page, or e-mail him at mfinley@mfinley.com