Covering videogames for a mainstream publication like Newsweek, we often feel like priests. Why? Because our colleagues will periodically pull us aside to confess their videogame experiences, or, more often, those of their children. We, in turn, solemnly hear their confessions, offer our infallible advice, then urge them and their loved ones to go forth and game some more. We had one such conversation with NEWSWEEK Assistant Managing Editor Kathy Deveny, wherein she recounted her quest for a DS Lite for her daughter, and her subsequent observations about her child's gaming habits. She agreed to share them with us; enjoy.

When my six-year-old daughter, Jing Jing, emailed Santa last November asking for not just a videogame player, but a Nintendo DS--specifically, a pink Nintendo DS Lite--I was pretty amused. How did she even know about Nintendo, let alone that the DS came in pink? She didn't get it from me. I'm not even good at Brick Breaker. But I liked the fact that she was growing up in a world where technology was all around her and that she was absorbing it naturally. I thought it was cool when she hovered around an all-boys group after a birthday party, angling to get her turn on the handheld they were passing around. That was just the kind of boys' club I had always wanted to crack. So what if other parents of kids her age fretted that violent videogames would turn their children into psychotic kitten killers? I was proud. My kid didn't want a Barbie; she wanted a key to the kingdom.

For days, I floated around in a DS-induced post-feminist haze, dreaming of the day when Jing would write her first lines of code. I also noticed--for the first time--that there was a GameStop just two blocks from our apartment. Perfect. I bravely walked in and asked for a pink DS. No dice. Sold out. Till after Christmas.

Crap.

Of course, they were sold out everywhere. After a panicked Web search, I finally found a white one. Had to have it. I bought a pink skin and hoped I could convince Jing that it would be even better than a pink one. We could change its clothes! It arrived a few days later, and I felt relief.

But I couldn't let the pink one go. I could feel the smug satisfaction of other unknown parents who had moved more quickly and had secured just the right DS. Parents who knew what they were doing; parents who had mastered Playstations and multiplayer games and avatars. Fathers, probably. Maybe I was too old for Title IX, but I wasn't going to let this pass me by. (Oh, did I say "me"?). I pulled out my credit card and went to eBay. And there it was: A coral pink Nintendo DS Lite, in factory packaging, complete with gift receipt. Just $50 above list price.

Score.

Jing was beyond thrilled. It was by far the most successful gift I had even gotten for my daughter; so successful, in fact, that I was a little sorry I had to give credit to Santa. In the early days of DS, Jing played Cooking Mama till her little fingers ached. She talked DS constantly. She slept next to the player while it charged.

What surprised me was that a lot of the sweet little games I found lying around the office were too hard for her. Dogz was really cute and the antithesis of the violent games I thought all those other kids were playing. But it turns out you have to be able to read to play games like The Suite Life of Zack & Cody. Even The Little Mermaid required skills my six year old just didn't have. If anything encourages her to read, I thought, it would be mastering those games. But it just wasn't happening fast enough. Once again, the girl knew exactly what she needed: New Super Mario Bros. No reading required.

So back to GameStop. This time in the Atlantic Terminal Mall in Brooklyn. Very daunting for me. Lots of big, tough looking teenagers, tons of games in different formats--and absolutely no girls in sight. Jing wasn't fazed, however. She took the lead and patiently guided me to the DS section. I noticed there were actual ratings on the games--E for Everyone! How handy! We located Super Mario and got in line. But $35 bucks? Nobody told me about that.

An incredibly cool-looking kid in front of us--maybe 17--was dropping the F-bomb left and right. He looked down at my tiny child. Then he really shocked me: he apologized for his language and punched his friend for cussing. He asked Jing what she was getting. She proudly held up Super Mario; I braced myself for an insult. He actually cooed. "That's a good one," he said. "I remember when my mama used to buy my games. Those were the days." It was love at first compliment, platonically speaking. While Jing ran off to look for other titles, I asked him what he was playing and how often he played. I can't for the life of me remember anything he said; I was just so happy to be a part of the videogame experience--even if it was just on the periphery.

Six month later, Jing isn't quite as obsessed with her DS, but she still loves it. She's still the only girl in her class who has one. It's an odd point of pride. She has gotten much better at the games, and I have come to appreciate what used to frustrate me most about gaming--no one tells you how to do it. You have to work on it and work on it and figure it out for yourself. A lot like the piano lessons, but quieter and more convenient for adults. This is a useful skill, I tell myself, even if she decides to be an investment banker instead of a coder. After a triumphant piano recital, I give Jing a reward: Kim Possible's Global Gemini.

Whenever she hangs out with her buddy Liam, they always break out their games. Not long ago, I watched them trying to figure out how to use the DS's Wi-Fi function to network with other players. At least I think that's what they were doing--Jing has long surpassed my elementary knowledge of gaming. I have a daydream about when Jing becomes a teenager, where all her friends want to hang out at our house between band rehearsals and play with our amazing futuristic game system. And I realize that Jing and Kathy's adventures in videogames have only just begun.