Zelda Is Kind of Taking Over My House, and That’s Cool

"Dad, can you help me make a shield?"

I'm working, but I pause, I look up, and I take in the scene. Son number one, six years old, foam sword in hand, gigantic roll of paper under his other arm, the hand on which is holding scissors and tape.

"Can you help me make Link's shield?"

Laptop, shut.

Since Breath of the Wild came out, slowly but surely, my kids—the other, another boy, is three and a half—have been indoctrinated into the ways of Zelda. The characters. The original games. The connecting lore. And not a great deal of this has been through my own encouragement—I've played a few games with them around, notably BotW but also a little of the first two on my NES Mini—as they've hooked onto the series without any deliberate coercion from their old man.

And it's, well, kind of great, actually. And I can see why. While Nintendo's more obvious mascot, Mario, is the go-to for lunchboxes, pencil cases, t-shirts (son number one has one, more on that in a second), posters, and so on, the games that he appears in are way more abstract than the Zelda adventures.

I've played a few Mario games with the boys—my eldest loves to create his own levels in Super Mario Maker—but they're confusing, illogical things, all oddly placed pipes and bizarre enemies out of keeping with the environment. In comparison to what these kids have seen of Zelda, anyway. Everything in Breath of the Wild feels connected, part of a logical, coherent world, and the same can be said of the very first NES game's presentation, with its go anywhere (within reason) freedom of exploration. In contrast, Mario is all locked levels and impossible portals, why-is-that-block-musical questions, long-tired tropes and unconvincing, or not there at all, narrative motivation.

Yes, playing Mario games is usually great fun—and I'm yet to introduce these guys to the Galaxy games. (I figured that they could practice the three-dimensional movement through the Wii U's 3D World, as the cat costumes complement their current fascination with whatever "super cats" are. They like to pretend they're "super cats". Obviously.) But their internal logic is the cause of so many son-to-father queries. No, I do not know why Toad gets bigger when he eats a mushroom and, yes, that is a little like cannibalism, isn't it. Wait, what do you know about cannibalism?

In recent weeks, the two boys have been found regularly playing, role-playing, as both BotW Link and Wind Waker Link—we're presently (slowly) playing through the Wii U remaster, sometimes as a post-dinner, pre-bath "bedtime story" treat, if I'm at home at the time. Son number one did indeed finish making his shield, coloring it to look the same as the one Link carries in Wind Waker—i.e., the hero's shield, which he picks up at the beginning of the game. It's rough around the edges, naturally, but it undeniably looks like what it's supposed to be, Triforce and everything.

The other morning, on clumping my way downstairs to the breakfast table before setting off for London and the office, I noticed the pair had both constructed new Lego creations. "It's the King of Red Lions," says my oldest, proudly. "And mine," says the youngest, "has its sail up." So it does, son. I mean, you're catching no wind, magical baton or not, in what looks more like a slice of blocky, plastic pizza, but ten out of ten for imagination.

And isn't that the message, here—that Nintendo's premier adventure game series is capable of effortlessly stirring within kids, those too young to even control the things properly, the enthusiasm to play along in their own ways. It sparks their imagination. More so than any other game I've shared with them, my kids have really taken Zelda to heart, and head.

Strongly enough that when, after he'd had it cut this week, I remarked that my oldest's hair was looking a little like Link's—because of those little sideburn-things he has, which my son insists on keeping, too—all he could say was, with the broadest smile, "cool." The last time he wore his green Mario shirt, last weekend I think, he did so inside out, so it'd appear plain, "like Link's outfit." He's a little amazed, too, that Wind Waker is as old as it is. The title screen comes up, with its GameCube-edition date of 2002, and every time: "Wow, that's before I was born." Mate, it's before there was the slightest thought about you being born.

I know other games can have this impact, too—one of my nephews, who's four, races around his grandparents' house as Sonic from time to time. (Amazingly, nothing's been smashed yet—he's clearly not committed enough.) I expect game-enthusiast parents reading this will have their own stories, too (and by all means share them on our forum). But there's something especially wonderful about Zelda, a series explicitly inspired by childhood exploration and intrigue, leaving a distinct impression on the next generation.

I mean, when you look out into your garden of a weekend and see two boys playing out the final boss battle of the game you just wrapped up, one crashing around the lawn claiming to be Calamity Ganon, the other chasing after him, brandishing an imaginary [redacted for spoilers!], how can you not love it?

I can't not love it, I know that much. (And the neighbors are yet to complain, so that's a bonus.) Wind Waker, early doors at least, presents to these guys a simple, succinct mission: rescue your sister from this sinister fortress. Relatable. They get it, are engaged, and on we go—over the horizon, to the next island. Mario and those Sprixie Princesses? The hell is anyone talking about? Unsurprisingly, neither of them has asked to play 3D World for several weeks. We've these wonderfully blue seas to sail, after all, both on-screen and imaginatively overlaid atop our real surroundings, be they a bedroom floor or the local park.