We've often complained about the generation gap that divides those who understand videogames as a medium and those who, in ways large and small, dismiss them. But is it possible that this gap has become, for some of us, a security blanket, an article of faith? What would happen to those of us in our mid-thirties and above if our parents, grandparents, bosses, religious leaders, politicians, all wanted to play as regularly as we do?

The spur for this brief-but-heartfelt reflection is a just-published AP story titled "Youth Vs. Adults In Gadget Wars" about gadgets like mobile phones, social networks like Facebook and the culture clash that can emerge as young and old meet on these playing fields. The article begins with an anecdote about a college freshman and his grandmother communicating via IM and pointing out correctly that "Long gone are the days when the average, middle-aged adult did well to simply work a computer. Now those same adults have Gmail, upload videos on YouTube, and sport the latest high-tech gadgets." Then it continues with:

Nowhere are the technological turf wars more apparent than on social networking sites, such as MySpace and Facebook, which went from being student-oriented to allowing adults outside the college ranks to join.

Gary Rudman, a California-based youth market researcher, has heard the complaints. He regularly interviews young people who think it's "creepy" when an older person — we're talking someone they know — asks to join their social network as a "friend." It means, among other things, that they can view each others' profiles and what they and their friends post.

"It would be like a 40-year-old attending the prom or a frat party," Rudman says. "It just doesn't work."

It's a particular quandary for image-conscious teens, says Eric Kuhn, a junior at Hamilton College in upstate New York, who's blogged about the etiquette of social networking.

He accepted his mom's invitation to be Facebook friends and has, in turn, become online friends with other adults she knows. But so far, he says, his 16-year-old sister has declined to add their mom "because she thinks it is not cool."

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From a gaming perspective, would it be cool with you if your boss wanted to join your Rock Band band and bless the mic with his or her vocal stylings on a nightly basis? What about if your grandparents asked to cowboy up with your Halo clan and help you re-finish the fight? Or if your parents had their heart set on your World of Warcraft party?

For the children of the Nintendo dads--the spawn of those of us who were in our early to mid teens when the original Nintendo Entertainment System launched in 1985--this is likely to be an everyday occurrence, for a lot of us are continuing to play games into our thirties and beyond. (We'll loom over those poor kids' virtual landscapes just as boomers have done with pop culture--they'll never shake us.) But for the Nintendo dads themselves, this would be extremely strange and disconcerting. We're used to games being this thing of ours, something that our parents and grandparents and bosses and authority figures sit apart from and don't quite understand. And while it might be charming to rock out with them for a song, or even a whole night, it would be another thing entirely to have them insinuate themselves into the fabric of our daily gaming experiences: asking us for our Friend Codes, popping up on our friends lists, sending us game invites or taunting us profanely in the midst of their virtual killing sprees. Some things should just remain sacred.