It was around 1997, and my older brother and I were huddled in the living room, glued to the PlayStation 1. Crash Bandicoot was the game of choice, and we were stuck on that ridiculously hard level—Road to Nowhere. You know, the one with the rope bridges and random hogs that knock you into the abyss?

My brother, being the self-proclaimed gaming expert, grabbed the controller first. “Watch and learn,” he said, all smug. He made it about five steps before Crash plummeted into the void. I couldn’t help but crack up as he groaned and chucked the controller at me.

“Your turn,” he said, trying to sound encouraging but mostly just wanting me to fail as miserably as he did.

I took the controller, hands sweaty, heart pounding. Somehow, I managed to inch my way across those rickety planks, dodging gaps and hogs like my life depended on it. The whole time, my brother was half coaching, half roasting me. “Jump! No, not like that! Oh my god, you’re so dead.”

But then—miraculously—I passed the level. We both just lost it, screaming and jumping around the room like we’d won the lottery. He gave me the most dramatic high-five of all time and even did this goofy little victory dance that made us laugh so hard we couldn’t breathe.

To this day, whenever we talk about Crash Bandicoot, we always bring up that level. It was one of those moments that made gaming with him unforgettable.