My 13 year old son sometimes worries me.

He’s playing Minecraft, which is essentially a giant Lego set on the computer or XBox.

He has built a sky castle hovering above the clouds, with elaborate towers, a church (with a stained-glass window), and a glowstone cross in the distance.

Then he set up an array of iron golems “prepped for war” like Qin Shi Huang’s stone warriors in ancient China. By making a T of iron blocks and placing a pumpkin atop it, you get a moving iron golem to defend you against monsters.

About three months ago, he came home with his little brother (who is 8), and they were raving about playing Minecraft at their friends’ house.

“Can we get it? Can we get it? It’s $20.”

“You mean you were actually playing with your little brother for the last two hours instead of fighting with him?”

“Yeah. It was fun.”

Creativity plus peace in the home?

“Sold. Let me download that right now.”