For the Love of a Game
I was almost a teenager, I think, when we got our first video game console. My sister had begged to have a Nintendo for Christmas, and I agreed to join her in asking because it seemed cool. Not everyone had a Nintendo then; I think we were the only ones of our close friends to have one when Christmas Eve came and our grandmother gave it to us. We were excited, but we had no idea of the way it was going to change our lives.
My dad set it up for us several days after Christmas, on a tiny old black and white TV at the foot of our bed, the first TV Kristi and I had ever had in our room. We lived way out in the country and couldn’t get cable, so this TV got no reception, but we didn’t care. All we wanted was Mario.
Dad finished connecting the cords, and then he sat down on the floor at the foot of our bed with us while we excitedly grabbed the controllers. “What does this even do?” he asked, and, although we had limited experience, we showed him Duck Hunt and how to jump in Super Mario, how to find the mushrooms and coins, and we laughed as he took a controller and immediately died. He played with us until maybe midnight, when he sent us to bed. As we fell asleep, he was still playing at the foot of our bed, “to finish his game,” he said. When we woke up the next morning, he was still there and still playing, having played all night. We were all three hooked.
Dad picked up other Mario games for us, and he bought us books that taught us how to access warp zones and how to figure out the codes for extra power ups in Super Mario 3. We played all the time, and Dad cut out our chores when we were playing Mario with him, which exasperated our mother. In summer when we mowed the giant yard, the three of us using two push mowers to get it all done, whoever wasn’t mowing was playing Mario under the air conditioner, handing off the game to whoever finished his or her shift next.
We listened to music while we played, and we talked. Sometimes we trash talked, and sometimes we talked about important things. We encouraged the characters in the game, and we insulted them. Playing Nintendo was something we did together, and it bound us together. Playing together is wrapped up in some of my best memories.
I was delighted when my daughter fell in love with Mario, although of course she fell in love differently than I did. She wasn’t so interested in the old Mario-saves-the-princess games. She liked MarioKart, and she liked being the princess, and kicking all our tails while doing it. She loved Super Mario Odyssey, and Super Smash Brothers, and all the ways that Mario has evolved for her generation. I just loved getting to play with her. We played a lot of Mario Kart, and I had a blast watching her play the other games that never made much sense to me. I didn’t stay up all night playing, but Mario was a way that my daughter and I also bonded, and I loved every second.
When she bought the book Game On: Video Game History from Pong and Pac-Man to Mario, Minecraft, and More by Dustin Hansen, I was interested in reading it, both because it sounded intriguing, and because she loved it so much. She picked it up on our summer vacation, and reading it consumed her for the rest of the trip.
It’s a thick book with a black cover, the title in big, bold video game letters and splashes of blue and red. Inside, it breaks down all the most important video games since the 70s in short chapters with accessible and fun language, with even shorter sidebar chapters that rate the top video heroes or villains, or fill in bits of history you needed before the next game discussion. It’s written perfectly for young adults, but I also loved every second.
My daughter started by reading chapters about games she already knew and loved and skipped around until she had read everything, but I started at the beginning and went straight through to the end. I remembered most of the games, even if I never played them, and I really enjoyed reading about the games of which I had only a peripheral knowledge. This book filled in gaps in my video game understanding and made me want to play more.
Video games and gamers get a bad rap sometimes, but this book was written with such knowledge and joy that I couldn’t stop smiling as I read about the different games. Fandoms are just fun, and it has been years since I proudly called myself any kind of a gamer. There’s something about this smart, connected, unashamed community of people completely enjoying themselves that makes me want to be a part of it too. It’s pure fun to play together and to hear the pride in my daughter’s voice when she shows me something she’s created in Minecraft, or to shout together at Bowser as he whips past us on his Kart. Again.
I finished the chapter on Guitar Hero and texted my daughter while she was at the grocery with my husband and told her I wanted to play it again. I don’t even know where the Playstation is anymore, but I do know that my husband will be able to find it, and there’s no way he threw out the guitar. She texted back, “I’d be up for it,” and now I know what we’re doing tonight.
Together.
Long live the video games, and the people who write about them.