I find the button and press it, and suddenly FunkyMan15 is back in the carrier, the convoy gate open, the other players running down the ramp into the blinding sun as the sergeant yells for us to bring home the glory.

My avatar just sits on the bench blinking.

“Dad, what are you doing?”

“How do I get up?”

“Press A.”

I tap the button and try to navigate the dual controls, but instead of rushing into battle, my avatar sprints toward the back of the truck and collides with the carrier’s wall. Be careful, the female voice says. I get back onto my feet and gaze at the ceiling like an idiot.

“Dad, you suck.”

I take a deep breath, focus on the controller, and turn my avatar toward the light. “Now what?”

“Press B3 to run.”

I press the wrong button. My avatar takes out a grenade and pulls the pin.

“Dad! Throw it!”

“How do I throw?”

“Y! Y!”

“Where’s the freaking Y button?”

“Blue square!”

My soldier throws the grenade out of the open carrier, completely reckless with no target in sight. It lands on the hood of a parked car and I watch as the other avatars flee. The car explodes, the impact sending me backward against the carrier wall.

Civilians are scattering and other avatars crouch in doorways as I navigate my soldier into the chaos I’ve caused. From a rooftop, a terrorist points an AK at me. There’s a splatter of blood against the screen. You’ve been hit.

“Shoot him!”

I press the button for my machine gun, but my reticle scrolls wildly across the screen, blasting apart all the melons on a fruit seller’s stand. You’ve been hit. My avatar’s labored breath gasps through my headphones along with the pounding pulse of a simulated heartbeat. You’ve been hit. I tap the octagon button frantically, but my avatar just jumps in place with stupid little hops before the terrorist blasts me apart.

Thank you for your service. Want to fight again?

Eli takes back the controller. “Wow, Dad, you really suck.”

“I hate that game,” I say, and get up to make us mac and cheese.

By his fifth respawn, Eli’s learned how to operate small ordnance, upgrade weapons, and use enhanced interrogation techniques. I watch him running around the computer-generated streets of Ankara, taking down insurgents who are nothing more than black dots on distant patios. He teams up with a group of high schoolers who are playing in Oslo and New Orleans, and they become a tight, efficient killing team, mowing down whole terrorist encampments and freeing a dozen Dutch hostages. I watch from the couch, no longer allowed to take a turn with his avatar, who’s accumulated too many valor points to be sacrificed to my shitty gaming.