Some of my earliest memories are of playing on the Sega Megadrive back in my old, tiny bedroom at the tender age of three or four. Games have always been a dominant part of my life, but they have been a core part of my being that I was never able to share with my parents.
My Dad was a lost cause. He is part of the old guard. A former miner with a love of gardening, he never really gave games the time of day. The few times I got him to sit down and play anything usually only enforced this division of our opinions.
On the other hand, my Mum has always been willing to watch me and my younger sister play, or take part when she can. And that is the trouble: She can’t play 99% of the time. You see, when she was born she suffered a stoke and lost much of the use of her right hand side. She can still walk and move her right arm but it is clumsy and she has no real control over its grip or independent finger movements.
As you can imagine, this is a problem for playing games because she can’t hold a controller. She certainly can’t manoeuvre her fingers to quickly and accurately press buttons. As such, she was never able to join in with our hobby no matter how much she may have wanted to. Continue reading