Why This Game

There is no pause button that lets you do this alone. There is no AI companion that fills in when your partner isn’t pulling their weight. There is no cheat code, no workaround, no solo path to the finish. It Takes Two requires two human beings — sitting together or connected online — communicating, cooperating, and solving problems in real time from the first moment to the last. You literally cannot progress without the other person. That’s not a feature. That’s the entire point.

Your child plays as one half of Cody and May — a married couple whose relationship has fractured. They’ve stopped talking, stopped listening, stopped seeing each other. Their daughter Rose, heartbroken by her parents’ fighting, cries over a handmade book about love — and through some unexplained magic, Cody and May are shrunk into tiny clay dolls and thrown into a world where the only way home is through each other. A talking self-help book called Dr. Hakim follows them around, insisting they repair their relationship through increasingly absurd challenges. Cody and May resist. They bicker. They blame. But the world won’t let them avoid each other, and slowly — level by level, puzzle by puzzle — they remember what connection actually feels like.

What makes It Takes Two extraordinary for an 11-year-old is that it doesn’t teach cooperation through a textbook. It teaches it through necessity. Every single level gives each player completely different abilities that are useless on their own but powerful together. In one level, one player has a hammer and the other has nails — literally. One person creates the anchor points and the other drives them in. In another, one player controls time while the other moves through the environment that time is reshaping. The mechanics change every thirty minutes, but the principle never does: you have what I need, I have what you need, and neither of us gets anywhere without both.

This is not how children usually experience games. Most games reward individual skill — faster reflexes, better aim, smarter strategy. It Takes Two rewards something entirely different: the ability to communicate clearly under pressure, to trust someone else’s timing, to let your partner lead when they have the better angle, and to admit when you need help instead of pretending you don’t. These aren’t gaming skills. They’re life skills. And the game practises them relentlessly across twelve hours of constantly shifting, endlessly creative challenges that never once allow either player to coast, carry, or check out.

The relationship between Cody and May mirrors something every 11-year-old is beginning to understand: that the people closest to you can also be the hardest to connect with. Cody and May love each other somewhere underneath the resentment, but they’ve forgotten how to show it. They’ve stopped listening. They’ve built walls of blame and defensiveness. The game doesn’t fix this with a heartfelt speech. It fixes it by forcing them to depend on each other — to call out directions, coordinate timing, share resources, and celebrate victories together. The emotional repair happens through action, not words. Your child will experience the same thing with their co-op partner: the moments of frustration when communication breaks down, the satisfaction when a plan clicks into place, the trust that builds when you catch someone mid-fall or they open a door you couldn’t reach.

And the creativity of each level serves the emotional journey. A level set inside a snow globe teaches fragility and care. A level inside a cuckoo clock teaches that timing matters. A level in a child’s bedroom — filled with toys, pillow forts, and action figures — reconnects Cody and May with the playfulness they’d lost. The game uses its environments not just as settings but as emotional metaphors. Your child may not consciously recognise every parallel, but they’ll feel it: the levels get warmer, more joyful, and more trusting as the characters do. The world reflects the relationship.

There’s one more thing that sets this game apart from every other cooperative experience: it’s genuinely fun. Not educational-fun. Not good-for-you-fun. The kind of fun where both players are laughing, shouting, leaning forward, high-fiving after a boss fight, and immediately asking “can we play one more chapter?” That matters. Because the lesson It Takes Two teaches — that the hardest, most important, most rewarding thing in life is showing up for another person and trusting them to show up for you — lands deepest when it arrives wrapped in joy rather than obligation.

What to Watch For

These are moments and mechanics that connect to your child’s social and emotional development. You don’t need to interrupt their play — just notice the dynamics between the two players and let the discussion questions do the work afterward.

Who leads and who follows. In every new level, both players receive different abilities. Watch the natural negotiation: who takes charge? Who defers? Does leadership shift based on who has the more complex role, or does one player always dominate? The healthiest pattern is fluid — leadership passing back and forth based on the situation. If one player always leads or always follows, that’s worth noticing.

How they communicate under pressure. Boss fights and timed sequences force rapid communication — “jump now,” “pull that lever,” “I’m coming to you.” Listen to the tone. Is it collaborative or commanding? Do they ask or tell? Do they blame each other when things go wrong or problem-solve together? The way two people talk when things get hard reveals the quality of their communication more than any calm conversation ever will.

The moments of failure. Both players will die. Repeatedly. The game is designed for it — checkpoints are forgiving precisely because failure is expected. What matters isn’t the failure itself but what happens next. Does one player blame the other? Do they laugh it off? Do they discuss what went wrong or just retry in silence? Failure is where cooperation is truly tested, and your child’s response to shared failure reveals a lot about how they handle accountability in relationships.

The Cody and May arguments. Throughout the game, Cody and May bicker, deflect, and avoid taking responsibility — especially early on. Watch whether your child notices these dynamics. Do they find it funny? Frustrating? Familiar? The characters’ communication patterns are exaggerated for comedy, but they model real relationship breakdowns: the passive aggression, the scorekeeping, the “I’m fine” that means the opposite. Your child is old enough to recognise these patterns — in the game and in life.

The elephant scene. Without spoiling too much: there is a moment in the game where Cody and May make a choice that feels necessary but turns out to be heartbreaking. Both characters feel guilt afterward. It’s the emotional turning point of the entire story — the moment they realise their actions affect someone beyond themselves. Watch your child’s reaction carefully. This scene generates strong feelings, and it’s designed to. It’s one of the most discussed moments in modern gaming for good reason.

The ability asymmetry. In most levels, one player’s ability is offensive or active while the other’s is supportive or defensive. The player with the “less exciting” role might feel undervalued — until they realise the active player literally can’t function without them. Watch for this moment of recognition. It’s the game teaching, in real time, that the person holding the shield is just as important as the person swinging the sword.

The joy. This might be the most important thing to watch for. Are they having fun together? Are they laughing? Are they celebrating each other’s contributions? The game is designed to create shared joy — and shared joy is the foundation of every healthy relationship. If both players are genuinely enjoying themselves, the cooperation lesson is already landing, whether they know it or not.

Family Discussion Questions

These questions are designed for children aged 11 and up. You don’t need to ask all of them — pick the ones that feel right based on what happened during play. Some connect directly to the game. Others connect to broader relationship skills. Ideally, both players participate in the conversation.

1. You literally cannot play this game alone — every puzzle requires both players. How did that feel compared to games where you do everything yourself? Was it frustrating, freeing, or both? Builds: Awareness of Interdependence

This is the foundational question. Most games reward self-sufficiency. This one makes it impossible. Your child has spent hours being unable to progress without another person, and that experience — the vulnerability of needing someone — is worth naming. “In real life, what are some things you genuinely can’t do alone, no matter how capable you are? How does it feel to admit that?”

2. Every level gave each player different abilities. Sometimes you had the exciting power and sometimes you had the support role. Which did you prefer — and did the ‘support’ role ever turn out to be more important than it looked? Builds: Valuing Different Contributions

This question challenges the assumption that the flashy role is the important one. In almost every level, the support player — the one aiming the light, holding the platform, creating the anchor — is the one who makes everything possible. “In a group project or a team, is the person who presents always the one who contributed most? What about the person who organised everything behind the scenes?”

3. When things went wrong — when you both died or a puzzle failed — what happened between you two? Did you blame each other, laugh it off, or talk about what went wrong? What worked best? Builds: Accountability & Conflict Response

Failure in co-op is shared failure, and how people respond to shared failure defines the relationship. This question asks your child to reflect honestly on their own patterns. “When something goes wrong in a friendship or at home, what’s your first instinct — to figure out whose fault it was, or to figure out what to do next? Which one actually helps?”

4. Cody and May spent most of the game arguing, blaming each other, and refusing to listen. Did that remind you of anything you’ve seen in real life — not necessarily between parents, but between any two people who care about each other? Builds: Relationship Pattern Recognition

Eleven-year-olds are surrounded by relationship dynamics — between parents, between friends, between themselves and their siblings. This question invites them to recognise the patterns without requiring them to disclose anything personal. “Why do you think people who love each other sometimes treat each other worse than they’d treat a stranger? What changes when someone feels safe enough to stop being careful?”

5. There’s a moment in the game where Cody and May do something they both regret — and it changes everything. Without spoiling it for others, how did that moment make you feel? Why do you think the game included it? Builds: Moral Reasoning & Consequence Awareness

The elephant scene is deliberately uncomfortable. The game forces the player to participate in something that feels wrong — and then makes them sit with the consequences. “Have you ever done something in the moment that felt justified and then realised it hurt someone you didn’t intend to hurt? What did you do with that feeling?”

6. How did you and your co-op partner communicate during the hardest parts? Did you develop any systems — like calling things out, counting down together, or assigning roles? Where did those systems come from? Builds: Communication Skills & Metacognition

This question makes the invisible visible. Effective communication under pressure doesn’t just happen — it evolves through trial and error. Your child likely developed shorthand, signals, and habits without realising it. “Do you think you could use those same communication strategies in real life — like during a group project or when planning something with a friend? What would that look like?”

7. Dr. Hakim — the talking book — kept insisting Cody and May work on their relationship even when they didn’t want to. Was he annoying, helpful, or both? Is there ever a time when someone pushing you to connect with another person is the right thing, even if you don’t feel like it? Builds: Receptivity to Guidance & Relationship Investment

Dr. Hakim is deliberately irritating — and deliberately right. The game uses his character to explore the tension between wanting to be left alone and needing someone to insist you don’t give up. “Has anyone ever pushed you to fix a friendship or apologise when you didn’t want to? Were they right? How did you feel about it afterward?”

8. In most levels, one player had to trust the other to do their part — sometimes without being able to see what they were doing. When did you trust your partner the most? When was it hardest? Builds: Trust & Vulnerability

Trust in this game isn’t abstract — it’s mechanical. You jump because your partner said the platform is there. You wait because they said they’re almost ready. You go first because they said they’ll catch you. “What does trust actually feel like in the moment — not the word, but the feeling? When you’re trusting someone, what are you really doing?”

9. By the end of the game, Cody and May’s relationship had changed — not because someone gave a speech, but because they’d been through things together. Do you think doing hard things with someone brings you closer than just talking about your problems? Builds: Understanding Experiential Bonding

This is the game’s deepest insight: relationships aren’t repaired through conversation alone. They’re repaired through shared experience — especially shared difficulty. “Think about your closest friendships. Are the people you’re tightest with the ones you’ve talked to the most, or the ones you’ve been through something with? What’s the difference?”

10. This game required you to show up for another person for twelve straight hours — to communicate, cooperate, compromise, and celebrate together. What did you learn about yourself as a partner? What did you learn about the person you played with? Builds: Self-Knowledge & Relational Awareness

This is the reflection question. Twelve hours of mandatory cooperation reveals things. Your child may have discovered they’re a natural leader, or that they default to following. They may have found that they get frustrated quickly, or that they’re more patient than they thought. “If you could change one thing about how you showed up as a partner during this game, what would it be? And what’s one thing you’re proud of?”

Parents’ Note

It Takes Two won Game of the Year at The Game Awards 2021 — not for its graphics, its combat, or its open world, but for its creativity and its heart. It was made by Josef Fares and Hazelight Studios, a team that has built its entire identity around one conviction: games are better when played together. Their previous title, A Way Out, explored the same principle. It Takes Two perfected it.

Why we chose it for Grade 6. At 11 years old, children are navigating increasingly complex relationships — friendships that require maintenance, family dynamics that are shifting, and the dawning awareness that connection requires effort, not just proximity. Traditional education teaches children to succeed individually. This game teaches them to succeed together — and makes the compelling case that “together” is harder, messier, and ultimately more rewarding than “alone.” The mechanical requirement of constant cooperation means your child can’t fake it, can’t coast, and can’t carry the other person indefinitely. They have to actually show up. That’s the skill this game builds, and it’s the skill that matters most as they enter adolescence.

This is the only co-op game on our list — and that’s deliberate. Every other game in our Play With Purpose series can be played solo. It Takes Two cannot. We included it specifically because the experience of being unable to progress without another person is fundamentally different from choosing to play with someone. Choice is comfortable. Necessity is transformative. Your child will experience moments of frustration, moments of miscommunication, and moments of genuine conflict with their co-op partner — and they’ll have to work through all of it, because quitting means both players stop. That’s not a bug. That’s the lesson.

Who should play together. Parent-child is the ideal pairing for this game within our curriculum. The relationship between Cody and May is adult, but the gameplay is designed so that two players of different skill levels can both contribute meaningfully. A parent playing alongside their child creates a rare dynamic: shared vulnerability, shared failure, shared celebration, and a communication channel that opens naturally through play in ways it sometimes can’t across a dinner table. Sibling pairs also work beautifully, particularly siblings who are navigating the transition from childhood play to more complex relational dynamics. The game gives them a structured, joyful reason to cooperate — and twelve hours of practice doing it.

The content consideration. The game is rated Teen, and the marital conflict premise means your child will hear adults argue, deflect, and struggle to communicate. This is handled with comedy and warmth — never with cruelty or distress — and the trajectory is unmistakably hopeful. The elephant scene (you’ll know it when you reach it) is the one moment that generates genuine emotional discomfort, and it’s deliberately placed as the story’s turning point. If your child is sensitive, a brief heads-up that “something sad happens but it leads to something important” is sufficient. Don’t skip it. The guilt both characters feel afterward is the catalyst for their transformation, and the conversation it generates is one of the most valuable the game offers.

How to use it. The game divides naturally into chapters, each set in a different environment with different mechanics. We’d suggest one chapter per session — roughly 30–60 minutes — followed by a brief conversation. Resist the urge to teach during play. The game does that work for you. Your job is to be a good partner: communicate clearly, celebrate their contributions, admit when you mess up, and model the kind of cooperative behaviour you want them to internalise. The irony of It Takes Two is that the parent playing it learns almost as much as the child — about patience, about letting go of control, about trusting someone else’s timing. Let that happen. The best version of this experience is two people growing together, not one person teaching and the other learning.

The deeper value. There is a moment — it will be different for every pair — where the game stops feeling like a game and starts feeling like something real. Maybe it’s the first time your child calls out a direction and you follow it without hesitation. Maybe it’s the moment you both fail a boss fight for the fifth time and instead of frustration, you both start laughing. Maybe it’s the quiet beat after the elephant scene where nobody says anything for a few seconds. Whatever it is, that’s the moment the game has done its work. Your child has experienced — not been told about, not read about, but experienced — what it feels like to show up for someone, to be shown up for, and to build something together that neither person could have built alone. That’s not a gaming achievement. That’s the foundation of every meaningful relationship they’ll ever have. And it starts here, on a couch, with a controller, and someone willing to play.