The Surprising Reason You Should Watch (and Play) Ninja Turtles With Your Kid

WHEN I PICTURE my three-year-old son, he is almost always in a karate stance with his fists balled tight. He’s wearing only Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle boxer briefs, a blue tie-on headband, and a turtle-shell-shaped backpack stuffed with an arsenal of toy weapons. He’s looking for a fight.

Together, he and I have watched every episode of TMNT, from the original 90s animated series show to the early 2000s reboot to 2023’s seriously amazing Mutant Mayhem movie. Most cultural moments fade. Ass-kicking anthropomorphic reptiles are forever.

When I was a young aspiring Leonardo myself, I remember that feeling: I just watched four crime-fighting superheroes punch and kick things and—cowabunga, dude!—I must do it too. Though I was small and afraid of confrontation, my parents signed me up for martial arts classes, which I soon learned were way less fun than pretend-slashing legions of Foot Soldiers. Also, I was terrible at martial arts. Eventually, I quit.

My son, however, is big for his age. He’s fearless. I’ve been in the clutches of his headlock and the little dude is strong. So much so that I have considered registering him for jiu-jitsu. My justification beyond (okay, fine) living vicariously through him, was practical. Back in the ‘90s, choosing “ninja” as a profession felt like it might actually lead to living in a sewer, surviving on pizza, and befriending a rat-man. Today, however, my son could use martial arts to become a stuntman for Marvel movies or a competitive mixed-martial artist.

I will also admit, along with these thoughts, that I had another: While other kids were chasing around a soccer ball, my son would be learning how to whoop ass. Listen, I know this is inherently wrong. As a father in 2024, I do believe that my son’s value is not dependent on his physical strength—and especially how well he can fight. But a part of me still buys in to this type of masculinity. And that same part of me, the brute I suppress, still feels like hurting someone too. I was torn. Where is the line today between healthy aggression and raising the next Super Shredder? So I asked an expert for help.

“Aggressive play is natural if only it’s consensual,” says Michael Thompson, Ph.D., a psychologist who has been working with children and families for more than 50 years. My son doesn’t ever not want to play TMNT, so the consent part was covered. Thompson was then encouraging: “Fathers that play fight with their son is a lesson on self-control and an act of love because the father, being so much bigger and stronger, could absolutely crush the boy if he wanted to. But he doesn’t do that. He exercises restraint; he makes it fun.”

Fun. That’s what martial arts wasn’t for me as a kid. And, knowing my son, it probably wouldn’t be fun for him either. First, Bebop and Rocksteady likely wouldn’t be in his class. And, second, I wouldn’t be karate-chopping with him. I’d be watching from the fringe, removed, a passive parent instead of an engaged playmate.

I ultimately didn’t sign my son up for the class. I chose instead to continue to run around our house with him, practicing “martial arts” moves as we chase the cat, in our boxer briefs and ninja headbands (yeah, I wear them too—so what?). I’ll keep the focus on fun, even though I know I will continue to question if I’m fostering something wrong, some kind of violence. But if it’s one thing I’ve learned from Leonardo, it’s vigilance.

Being a parent, creating these little people is a dangerous thing, we must be careful. But just as giving a kid a pair of sneakers won’t make them a professional athlete, my son’s love for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles won’t lead him to a life in the sewers protecting New York City from the Foot Clan. Though I am okay with that life if that’s the one he chooses—as long as I get to come along every once in a while.

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