Are you addicted to computer games? When I recently purchased a computer, I told my children very clearly that it was for business use only. At least I thought I had made that point very clear. The computer was an investment to be used exclusively for the purpose of enhancing my typesetting career and for the occasional freelance writing that I do. It was not to be used by the children at all.

My kids were quick to inform me that all their friends had computers. My kids had a minor request: that when I was not working, they could use the computer to play a game or two. This, they pointed out, would not interfere with my career in any way. When an interesting idea came to mind regarding an article to be published, or the moment my clients needed typesetting, the children would immediately relinquish the computer — even mid-game. No whining; no begging me to wait until they finished.

This all sounded very convincing, but still I was doubtful. “I’m really not sure; let me think about it.”

I must have taken longer to consider the matter than the children could tolerate. A couple of days later, they asked again. “I need more time,” I responded.

On the one hand, I knew that they would get their way. How long could I withhold from them something all their friends were doing? On the other hand, I was fearful that becoming addicted to the computer could be as hazardous to the brood as watching television. We had never had a television in the house; why invite a similar problem in a different guise?

Until now, the children would busy themselves with board games, outdoor activities, bicycle riding, studying, and doing homework. The computer would open up an entirely new world for them — and I was not convinced that I was prepared for the change.

My son came home from school the following week with a difficult homework assignment. He needed to research a topic about which I knew nothing. I offered to drive him to the public library. I also reminded him that we had a set of encyclopedias gathering dust in the basement. He looked at me as if I had just stepped forward from a previous century and asked, “Mommy, don’t you know that no one uses encyclopedias these days? All you do is insert a disk into the computer, and a whole world of information is at your fingertips.” I reminded him that I did not intend to connect to the Internet. He assured me that the encyclopedia disk was different, that it had nothing to do with the Internet. He demonstrated how it worked, and I agreed to let him do the research.

After printing some ten pages of information on the topic that he needed, he asked if he could show me the computer games he and his siblings wished to play. I consented to the request. The other children were not yet home from school, making this a good opportunity to take a peek. It would help me in my long-overdue decision.

There are so many games that come pre-installed on the hard drive of a home computer. The average computer comes equipped with more games than one can play in a lifetime. And every game comes in a variety of levels, to accommodate the beginner as well as the skilled player. My son clicked on a game he thought I might enjoy, just to get me started.

Knowing I had no experience with computer games, he clicked Level One. I was ready to begin. Suddenly there were boxes coming down from who-knows-where. All sizes and shapes. Long and short, L-shaped, T-shaped, squares. The goal was to fill up as many rows as possible with the various shapes, leaving the least amount of open spaces along the way. The more lines you filled with no spaces, the higher your score. In a matter of minutes, I was hooked.

When the girls returned from school, dinner was not ready. They told me about their day at school, but I listened with only half an ear. I had to concentrate on the game. After school every night, I would brag to the children about my highest score and what a pro I was becoming.

I soon made my decision. I promised each of the children a turn after dinner, provided they first completed their homework assignments.

But things were not as simple as I was led to believe. One game led to another. “It’s not fair,” cried my daughter. “I got the world’s worst shapes in my turn; let me try again, and I’ll show you how good I really am.”

My son said, “Your turn lasted ten minutes, while my game was over in just two or three. Please let me have another turn before we have to close the computer.”

Then came the game with the balls — hundreds of balls falling from heaven. The object of the game was to cage each ball without the ball touching the cage that encircled it. At first this seemed an impossible task. In the end, I mastered that game as well.

The phone would ring, but I left it unanswered. It always rang at the most challenging part of the game. I found it easier to ignore the ringing than to find the pause key and afterwards return to where I had left off. Whoever was calling would certainly call back later, I figured.

Then there was the budgeting game. A person started the week with a pre-determined sum of money. His goal was to budget his money wisely, so that it lasted until his next paycheck. If he bought a new suit, for instance, he might have to forego eating out that week. He might even try and open a savings account. On the other hand, he could become heavily indebted if too many emergencies came up during the week. The possibilities were endless. I decided it was a good educational game for the children. It seemed so realistic.

Then again, so was doing homework. When the teachers called that the children’s assignments were not being handed in on time, I realized that education begins at home — with homework. We set our first rule. No computer games during the week. Sunday was earmarked as Games Day — provided, of course, that they first did their household chores.

But even on weekends there were problems. If I had to get someone’s attention, it was virtually impossible to do so. There was something hypnotizing about the computer. All eyes remained glued to the monitor.

Anyone in the background was non-existent as far as the player was concerned. Admittedly, when the children are engrossed in reading a good book, it is also often difficult to get their attention. Difficult but possible. There are methods of diverting their attention, such as confiscating the book.

The monitor was an entirely different matter.

“Press pause, make your bed, and then you’ll continue,” I recall telling my teenager. By the time she returned, however, her brother was at the screen.

“I’m sorry, but I had no idea who was playing,” he said. “So I decided to start a new game, and I can’t stop in the middle.” By now my daughter was in tears. The game she had been playing was her highest score ever. Now her name would not appear on the log the computer keeps of all the high scores. Her day was ruined. Besides, she would have to wait until her brother finished his game to try again. As he was already up to Level Seventeen, his game could go on forever.

Was my family the only one experiencing computer game addiction, or was this a common problem? I decided to ask around and find out. I soon discovered that households everywhere face a similar situation.

Time that could wisely be spent reading, walking, jogging, or studying was being spent in front of the computer. When it was finally time to retire for the evening, the children would wake up to the fact that they had not done their homework.

In adults, those addicted to the computer will many times neglect vital household responsibilities. Many a husband and child return home after a hard day at work to find no dinner and no clean laundry, and the house in a state of turmoil. As I sit here writing about computer game addiction, the children (who have no idea what this article is about) are in the background, deciding who will be first at the screen when I am done.

“None of you will get a turn tonight,” I warn them. “If you keep up the bickering, this article will never be completed, in which case my computer will be off grounds forever.”

They assume that I am exaggerating, yet silently walk away for fear that I may be dead serious. Besides, the one who happens to be around when my article is completed is inevitably the one whose help I seek with editing and proofreading.

Baruch Hashem, silence at long last.

Sara Gottlieb, a frequent contributor to The Jewish Homemaker, lives in Oak Park, MI. She would love to receive reader comments, but has no idea how to work her E-mail.