I’d always figured that videogame characters were so unlike ‘real-world’ people that they couldn’t prepare me for anyone that might be thrust into my life. But walking my nine-month-old daughter around my kitchen, like a living marionette, I was suddenly hit by how much these miniature humans have in common with the characters we play in our games. And it’s more than just their uncanny ability to double jump.

We share a strange, somewhat symbiotic, relationship with both. It’s not the kind of symbiosis we have with lactobacillus. After all, there are no infants or virtual persons in a tub of yoghurt. And as far as I know, babies aren’t contributing to the flora of my gut; although, a digestive system chock full of them might explain all the gurgling emanating from within. And it’s probably a hint as to why my ‘gut feelings’ always seem to lead me towards putting anything and everything in my mouth, or pooping my pants.

Instead of being physical, the connection we have with our children and videogame characters is something more ethereal. They’re both an extension of ourselves, yet separate from us. When my daughter’s upset, so am I. When Drake gets his heart broken in Uncharted, I do too. They both have their own emotions, or at least the illusion of these. They are us, but at the same time not us. We project our fears, hopes and dreams onto our children, as we do these virtual beings. We hope to shape them, and we spend a great deal of time trying to control them, but at the end of the day we can only do so much until their programming takes over. Our memories with them are not only created by us, they are also created by them.

These reminiscences of success are often enshrined in mementos. Trophies, achievements and collectables cover it, and it’s not my Xbox Live profile. It’s my fridge. And like most parent’s fridges across the world it’s a magnetic brag book on display to any visitor who wants to grab a cold drink. Our achievement points, PlayStation Network trophies and initials on high score tables are the metaphorical fridges of the videogame world. They celebrate not only our own achievements but the fact that we’ve walked through these experiences with our avatars. Even if I’m not as proud of Master Chief defeating the Flood as I am of my daughter for learning how to make that cute popping noise using her mouth and index finger, there’s still a small amount of pride for his achievements. If he were cuter I’d even consider hanging his footprint up on my wall.

It’s not just the facades of our white goods that are altered by the appearance of offspring. The rest of our living spaces are also heavily modified for optimum child/precious belongings interfacing. As my daughter unlocks new abilities fresh barriers are erected. After all, when she gets into the bathroom or Mum and Dad’s bedroom alone she breaks the game; or rather, breaks our things. Even the obvious cover points in Mass Effect 2 seem less unnaturally placed than the array of stools, boxes and side tables that have now become the obstacles to our precious belongings. They’re roadblocks for our breakables to take cover from the enemy on all fours. They’re also there for the same reason that Samus is locked out of areas in Metroid before she has the skills to take on what’s behind them. They’re there to protect her from a world she doesn’t yet have the tools to take on; so she can’t break it, or herself. But as they grow and learn we’re as proud of them as we are of the fact that we’ve helped them to get this far.

This all might be a flimsy excuse to subtly fit talking about my daughter into a piece of writing about videogames. And what parent wouldn’t take the opportunity? However, I do believe that game characters and infants have a lot in common. I’m just glad that it’s my little girl and not Kratos that’s going to be planning where I’m going to be living in the latter parts of my golden years. I hear looking after family isn’t one of his strengths.

Related posts:

1. Gaming Pedigree: Five genre-defining adventure games
2. Toddler Games: What we’re playing
3. Why I’m making my kids play games

Tags: avatars, parenthood, player-characters

This entry was posted on Tuesday, May 11th, 2010 at 9:00 AM and is filed under Experience, Game Design. You can follow any comments to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a comment, or trackback from your own site.