Catching Pikachu with My Fifteen-Year-Old

My son is fifteen, and for most of this year, our conversations have been one word long. "Fine." "Nothing." "Sure." Then, in July, Pokémon Go came out.

He asked if I would drive him to the park after dinner because there were "rare spawns." I said yes. Then I downloaded the app myself, just to understand what he was doing. Big mistake. I was hooked in about ten minutes.

We started walking every evening. Three miles, four miles, sometimes five. We hit the library, the fire station, the old mural downtown. He explained everything to me with the patience of a tired teacher: evolutions, eggs, gyms. I pretended to understand.

The park was packed with people of all ages, staring at their phones and then laughing and shouting to each other. A grandfather and his granddaughter helped us find a Snorlax. A group of college kids shared their lure.

The day I caught a Pikachu, my son high-fived me in front of a stranger. Then he said, "That was cool, Dad." Four words. I'll take it.