They named him Buddy.  He was small, probably sixty or seventy five pounds.  Very cute.  Oh, and he was a panther cub.

So began my first ever experience with the Kinect.  I love new hardware like... well, everyone loves cake, so it had to be mine.  The launch lineup wasn't quite hitting my palette right, but that Kinectimals title was clearly right up my daughters’ alley.

The oldest (at four years of age) started the adventure, with the youngest (at two) watching contemplatively.  Buddy told us the story of his island and its history, and let the girls join in on some fun challenges.  Kicking balls across a pitch at some tiki statues, various jumps and spins… you know, the types of things that cubs in the wild would challenge each other with.

Then came a race course, and by this time the youngest was fit to be tied.  She was nearly despondent, and soon became physically unable to idly sit by.  She had to have a turn, though for some unknown reason she decided to strip for the occasion.  No “Daddy’s Little Monster” shirt, no diaper… just… buck naked. 

So in front of the Kinect she pounced, and proceeded to steer Buddy through the course.  You know that trick where you make a butt-crack on the back of a soup spoon by clenching your two fingers together?  Well, those two fingers are about the size of her little fists.  Now picture those two fists stuck out as far as they can go, making steering motions – replete with “vroom, vroom” sound effects.
 
Don’t forget to picture a bare toddler’s butt, too.

Now, it doesn’t matter one iota how many walls she nicked or how many laps were completed; to her, she was driving.  It’s hard to tell if I had more fun watching her than she had playing, but for twenty minutes she was Buddy.

Half of the fun of having kids is watching their antics and remembering all the places your imagination used to take you.  Seeing that same kind of imaginative spirit embodied by your own flesh and blood makes you feel like you haven’t really lost it.  You’ve just, kind of… moved it. 

Reality crashes in for a minute to remind you that you’ve got dinners to cook, a bird cage to clean, and somewhere there’s also a dirty diaper that got hastily eschewed in favour of some sweet racing action. Then a little tiny voice races around the corner and asks, “Can we go again?”

Yes we can, sweetheart.  Yes we can.