180 Degrees columnist Bill Harris and his son Eli playing Super Mario Galaxy on the Wii 

Last month, in his debut guest column for Level Up, Dubious Quality blogger Bill Harris combined an interview with Armageddon Empires creator Viv Davis with an analysis of sales its patterns to help understand how indie developers must market their games differently from their deep-pocketed rivals. In today's essay, The Austin, Texas-based analyst (who does not cover videogames in a professional capacity) looks back on six years of fatherhood and gaming with his son, Eli. Level Up would like to wish all of the fathers among our readership a happy Father's Day, and we hope you enjoy this column.

"Hey, Dad, do you want to play a little Super Mario Galaxy before you go to work?" Eli's already turned on the Wii, because he already knows my answer.

I woke up tired this morning, just as I have every day since my son was born.

In 2001.

For Eli 6.10, "sleeping in" means 7 a.m., and when he wakes up, he's all go. My mom says he reminds her of me. It's hard to remember a time when I had trampolines in my shoes, but I like the thought. And him.

Here's the thing about being a father: it's impossible to understand how much you'll care.

I don't know much about my own father, who was never around, and the few times I was with him always seemed to turn into gut-wrenching disappointments. So when Eli was born, I keenly wanted him to have a good father, even though I had no idea how to be one.

Almost seven years later, I'm still trying to figure that out. What I do know, though, is that forty years is a long, long time. We grew up in different worlds, and while I live in his world, he's never lived in mine.

I was born in 1961, and grew up in a small town in South Texas, population 7,302. We had a Dairy Queen, two stop lights, and a public library. We had three channels of television.

Eli 6.10 was born in 2001, and is growing up in a metropolitan area of over a million people. There's a Dairy Queen, plus at least a thousand other places to eat. We have twenty-two public libraries. There are over three hundred channels of television.

In the summer, I'd wake up in the morning, eat breakfast, and go outside to play. Sometimes I'd ride my bike down to the park, three blocks away, where there was almost always a baseball game going on. If I had any money, I'd pedal over to the Maverick Market and buy an Icee.

If I got tired, or it got too hot, I'd come home and read, sometimes for hours. Once a week, my mom would take me to the library, and I would come home with an armful of books that never seemed to last until our next trip.

Eli's summer will be full of themed day camps: claymation, magic, rock climbing, and acting. He'll do more organized activities in one summer than I did in all my summers growing up combined.

There are no neighborhood kids hanging out in the park. Neighborhoods barely seem to exist anymore. He has more friends than I ever had, but they live all over town. Want to see a friend? Schedule a play date.

"Flying to the center of the universe to fight Bowser? That is AWESOME!"

I didn't get to play video games as a kid--I was born so long ago that they didn't exist. It wasn't until I was in college that arcades exploded, and I didn't play my first computer game until I bought an Apple IIc in 1986. I bought two games the same day.

One of them was Ultima IV.

Weeks later, it's 2 a.m. I'm just about to stop playing, just like I've been about to stop for the last four hours. My roommate, who has to get up in just a few hours, is watching me play. I'm behind Lord British's castle, and there's a dungeon. When I exit the dungeon, I'm in the mountains, and I find something. I can't quite figure out what it is, but it looks important. I try a few different commands, but nothing happens.

Then I press "B"--the "board" command.

On the screen, I see this: "Board Balloon."

"It's a BALLOON!" we both shout, amazed.

Soon, we're floating over Britannia. When his alarm goes off, we look outside and see dawn. We're still playing.

Eli's been playing games since he was three. Now we play games on the Wii almost every day. His Ultima IV is Super Mario Galaxy, and we've both shouted in amazement many times, but he's having his balloon moment twenty years before I had mine.

At night, though, after the playing and the laughter, after he goes to bed, I worry. I call it "the ghoulies," and it's what you worry about late at night when everyone else is asleep. I worry about all the bad things that could happen to Eli, no matter how unlikely. No matter how tightly I shut my eyes, there are nights when it won't go away, and I lay awake and watch hurting and pain and tragedy flicker in front of me.

Here's another thing about being a father: it's impossible to understand how much you'll fear.

During the day, though, in the light, I don't have worries. I have hopes.

One of those hopes is that gaming has as positive an effect on his life as it has on mine. I want him to feel the exhilaration of finding the balloon and flying over Britannia in Ultima IV, or flying on the back of an eagle in Questron II. I want him to feel the overwhelming sense of loss at the end of Mafia. I want him to struggle with the intellectual challenge of Dwarf Fortress. I want him to feel the sheer giddiness of No More Heroes. I even want him to feel the mounting dread of Fatal Frame II: Crimson Butterfly. Someday.

Mostly, though, I want him to be happy, and grounded, and gaming helped me with both. Whenever I was going through a rough patch, gaming gave me something to look forward to at the end of the day. It's hard to be depressed when you're having so much fun. Gaming also taught me to be more flexible and more persistent. Examine all the possibilities. Keep thinking. Don't give up.

It also taught me not to take myself too seriously, because gaming can be humbling.

Humbling as in Eli 6.10 is much better than I am at Super Mario Galaxy. We've been playing it together for months, and he's ridiculously good--he knows every move, every secret, and he has a photographic memory of the location of all the hidden stars. We have 192 stars--all the way through with Mario (120), and more than halfway with Luigi (72)--and we'll finish it soon.

For my part, I'm in no hurry.

Gaming is a great way to spend time together. It's a great way to build relationships. It teaches cooperation, and how to work as a team. It's also a way to just hang out and have fun.

It's a way to answer questions that will never need to be asked.

That's what I think, anyway. But since this is about a father and a son, I wanted to ask Eli 6.10 what he thought about gaming.

"Thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to do this interview," I say. He starts giggling and can't stop.

"So what does gaming teach you?" I ask.

He looks at me with serious intent. "Hand flexibility," he says.

Now I'm the one who's laughing. "Hand flexibility?" I ask.

"Hey!" he says. "And coordination."

"So why do you like games?" I ask.

"I like games because they're fun to play," he says.

Sometimes the best answers are the simple ones.

"Want to play a little Super Mario Galaxy?" he asks.