It's-a me, Pauline!

My daughter turned 16 this year, which means I've officially entered the stage of parenthood where anything I say is answered with eye-rolling. It also means I've been thinking a lot about when she was small - specifically the time she inadvertently sent me on one of the strangest, most meaningful missions of my life.

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Back then, I was still nurturing the fantasy that my kids would one day wander over and ask to play a game with me, seeking secret apprenticeship in the art of ancient videogames. My son technically fulfilled this dream once, joining me for a round of Combat on the Atari 2600 after considerable bribery. I told myself it was a generational moment. In truth, it lasted maybe three minutes. He drifted back to his toy trains.

But my daughter was built differently. At three, she treated games with the same wide-eyed devotion I'd had as a kid. When I played Ron Gilbert's The Cave, she'd sit beside me, pointing at the screen and issuing commands. And her favourite? Our shared game, the one that still burns in my memory: Donkey Kong.

Her early wiring began without me noticing. Whether I was playing a game or watching