My wife and I were at a wedding party the other day. The means of entertainment included several free-standing arcade games, among them, Pac-Man. My wife had never played, so I showed her the ropes.
Shortly, an adorable little boy approached. Call him Willy. Willy was maybe five years old. He watched, intrigued, as Pac-Man chowed down on pac-dots and battled Blinky and the other ghosts.
We asked Willy if he'd like to play. His eyes lit up. As he took my wife's spot, I explained the basics. He played a round, which ended quite prematurely. Then it was my turn. I commenced Pac-ing, explaining to Willy the meaning behind all the happenings on the screen.
But Willy didn't seem to hear me. He was concentrating; he thought he was playing. The whole time I was controlling play, he was moving the joystick, using body English, exclaiming when Pac-Man was in this or that tight spot. It was very amusing. And also illuminating. Willy hadn't yet learned which events in the world were ones he could plausibly take credit for.
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