Editor’s note: Tim takes a seat on the porch to wax nostalgic about the good ole’ days of childhood, when he actually had to work to get the few games he played each year — and enjoyed them more because of it. -Brett
Sometimes I wonder if poverty truly is the path to happiness — especially when it comes to video games.
As was the case for many kids, I didn’t have access to much cash growing up. I never received an allowance. Whatever money had the misfortune of falling under my young control was the result of birthday gifts, pop-can scrounging, or occasionally helping my dad haul and clean up shingles on rooftops.
My very limited wealth meant that when I wanted a video game, it had to be a game for which I was willing to toil and languish over a period of months to earn. Back when layaway was still a widespread option, I’d occasionally stow a game there as if I was worried everyone else would’ve bought up all copies in existence before I had enough to pay in full — because I was. I would whittle away at the payment with whatever I had accrued whenever we went to the store, going to visit my beloved copy of Donkey Kong Country 2: Diddy’s Kong Quest the way Wayne Campbell pined for his Stratocaster.
Earning every game was a campaign. I sold a quarter of my then earthly possessions at a garage sale for EarthBound. I painted an entire barn for Ocarina of Time.
My parents knew well of my dedication and used it to their advantage, too. They purchased a copy of Kirby’s Dream Land and placed on top of the refrigerator, promising it to me in a month’s time for a long car trip if I was good. Oh, and I was perfect — mainly because I spent most of that time staring at the top of the refrigerator.
In what I still consider one of my life’s greatest defeats, they promised me the ever-awesome Chrono Trigger if I didn’t play any video games whatsoever for a month. I remained vigilant all the way to the last week, when I slipped up and played a demo SNES at a department store. I lost Chrono Trigger that day to Ken Griffey Jr.’s Winning Run. Some cultures would demand I commit honorable suicide for such an egregious mistake.
For all the trouble involved, though, the day I received each game was a glorious event. Every game I mentioned above — with the exception of Ken Griffey, of course — absorbed a considerable period of my life once I could pop it into my console. I played Kirby during the entire four-hour drive and back. I collected every last DK Coin in Donkey Kong Country 2 — twice. And yes, several months later my parents surprised me with Chrono Trigger for Easter, eternally cementing the fact that hey, they really do love me after all.
The fact is, all the work and long-term emotional investment involved in earning these games made playing them all the more sweeter. Even if a game turned out to be a bit crappy, you’d still play it because you knew it was all you’d going to have for a while.
But when the perks of a mature life and steady job come along, a lot of that appreciation seems to die. When you know you can buy just about any game out there, it’s not much of a conquest anymore. It almost becomes a chore.
Okami and Super Mario Galaxy sit on my shelf right now. In the old days, I would’ve explored nearly every nook and cranny of each game, then went back to do it again. But I still haven’t grabbed all the stars in Galaxy, and I haven’t even seen the end credits of Okami. I look back at them now and then and recognize them for the great games there are, but there’s always something new coming out, another game I want to hurry through to ship out on Goozex. How many games do you play through more than once anymore? If your answer is relatively high, you’re a noble gamer in my book. If not, I feel ya.
In the end, while it might not have felt fair at the time, I can see now the great intangible benefit to having to work and wait. My favorite gaming memories come from the days I saw all my effort pay off, and what better tribute can you give a designer than returning some of that hard work they put into their product?
If I ever have kids, I’m not just going to hand them every game or toy they want and watch them grow jaded. They’ll have to work for the stuff they really want. Call me a stodgy old-timer if you want, but seeing the looks of joy on their faces when their goals come to fruition will put a huge smile on my face, taking me back to the days of my greatest gaming joys.