My 16-year-old considered his rat one of his best friends. They spent much of each day together in his room, the rat often sitting on his lap while my son worked at the computer, or on his chest while my son lay in bed reading. He had the creature for nearly four years and you can imagine how attached he was to it. By the time we took the rat to the vet, it was a forgone conclusion that it wasn’t coming home again; it was in bad shape. My son understood that his rat was only suffering unduly and finally convinced himself that it was the right thing to do, but he was so distraught, he couldn’t bring himself to accompany me to the vet or to participate in the burial; he just wanted to cling to the happy memories, instead. I don’t blame him a bit.

When my 14-year-old found out that his rat was ill, and the vet wanted over $400 to run all the tests and see if it was “just a cyst” instead of a tumor, there was no acceptable way to explain to him that we simply didn’t have that kind of extra cash lying around. He offered to sell his trumpet (which he isn’t playing anymore and which probably needs to be sold, anyway) to cover the costs. What do you say to that? He didn’t yet understand that the vet was just offering to cover all the bases out of a sense of duty, but that you the client have to read between the lines to understand what’s really going on.

In the end, both children came to grips with the reality that their rats were incurable, and they certainly didn’t want the animals to continue to suffer, but it didn’t make it any less painful for either to actually make the decision to give up hope and let the vet kill his beloved pet. It was as if they were killing the animals themselves. As an adult, we understand the truths of tight family budgets, mass inbreeding of rats, and the desire not to see animals (or humans) suffer. We get it, and though we don’t like to make those hard choices, we do make them. But the hardest life-lesson a child experiences regarding pets is the first time he or she has to serve on that creature’s death panel.

• VATS. Action-based RPGs aren't my thing. I prefer to stop, look around, assess, and make decisions in combat. Oblivion felt more like a shooter than an RPG when it came down to brass tacks. VATS was an excellent solution to this problem.
  
• The depth. There was a lot to do in this game, and so much of it purely optional or fun that the world felt more fleshed out than Oblivion did. Add to that locations that had enough variety to feel fresh as well.
  
• The setting. It's Fallout. And this was a Fallout game, no doubt about it.
  

• Herding. I felt herded at times, especially when I was supposed to be travelling through the city and I couldn't just walk through the streets or over piles of rubble, I had to run through some predetermined dungeon funhouses to get there. Ugh.
  
• Slightly unpolished. There are some strange things - I noticed this the most during the final battle, when I had to load the game several times just to get the robot to walk the path correctly (once, he got stuck in the air and wouldn't come down. No, he doesn't fly.) Of course, comparing Fallout 3's polish to the absolutely unplayable state of Fallout 2 when it released if kind of a joke in and of itself.
  
• The plot. The plot never changes. I'm going to go fanboy for a second, but my biggest pet peeve of this game was that it was a frankenplot of previous Fallout games. And evil overseer who turns you out of the vault? A quest for water? The need for a GECK? The Brotherhood as mysterious allies, the Enclave as antagonists? All straight from other Fallout games, which were set on the other coast. I wanted to see new organizations, new enemies, new problems to solve. Not the same stuff in a different setting with a different game engine.
  
• Power. Last but not least, a tiny bugbear of mine. How the hell was there still juice running through the destroyed DC power grid to power vending machines and neon signs in the metro system? In my best comic shop guy voice: as if.