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Having grown up in the 90s, all my games were extremely powerful and competitive. My three older brothers and I spent hours Super Smash Bros., Mario Partyand Mario Kart. We set up LAN matches in StarCraft and Warcraft 2. My mother saw games as a group activity, a way to save time and probably give her a break.
Only when I scored a Game Boy did I discover that the game was not necessarily a social activity; he could be appreciated wonderfully solo.
Our family Game Boy was one of the original models – bulky, with a lightweight plastic attachment and too much tape residue on the battery. When I was six, my parents took me to Best Buy and bought me. Pokémon. Standing in front of a game rack, choosing between red and Blue, a story just for me, was a milestone.
By the time I started playing in the car, I had become hooked.
Having a portal to escape from, on your own, has become a growing attraction. My brother had leukemia as he grew up, so I remember going back and forth to the family van and the subway, sitting in the sterile play area of a medical office. The Game Boy has become a tiny sanctuary over the course of travel and uncertainty. I've advanced through Pokémon to the rhythm of the snail of a child who is not very good, but desperately looking to explore every corner of his little world.
Back home, I continued to play our Nintendo 64. My brothers and I were going to play the game Mario Party, grinding our palms in the joysticks until they blister. We played Ocarina of Time and Super Mario 64 together, with the transfer of controllers for boss fights and the release of my brothers allowing me to explore and recover keys and skulltulas. I became very good at rushing Reavers into StarCraft on the Mac family, stack them in descent boats and drop them on resource lines.
It was fun and it was the best way for us to connect the difficult gaps in the disease with age differences. But I was not very good and I often felt embarrassed. At this age, I found the 3D worlds of the Nintendo 64 intimidating, and the problem of cooperative sofa games is that there is always someone to tell you that you have failed in this boss fight, or that you accidentally get lost in the game. Water Temple. Again.
I do not think I ever beat Wario Earth: Super Mario Earth 3 or Kirby& # 39; s Dream Land, but these were challenges that I could meet at my own pace, without an audience. The sofa was messy, lively and critical. My Game Boy was a sanctuary, a place of calm.
I did not talk to my brothers or my parents about my Pokémon I progressed and was filled with excitement in a quiet room when I finally reached the Final Four. Blue Pokémon It was not the first game I technically beat, but it was the first one I beat on my own. I took it during car rides, during hospital visits, and I played it throughout the turmoil and arguments at home.
I kept playing this gray brick from a handheld, cassette and everything, until my teenage years. When my health took a turn and I was admitted to the hospital for a three-week stay, my older brother entrusted me with a purple Game Boy Advance and a plastic pouch full of games. Mobile phones and tablets have made obsolete the two handheld computers and games always accessible they offer, and the Nintendo hybrid portable console, the Switch.
Thirty years later, I still remember my Game Boy, who survived until we packed our bags and moved out. When I was a kid, it was an oasis, and its simple controls and graphics hid the power of a device as quiet, portable and just right for me.
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