“Well, that was emotional.”
Near the porch rocking chair, there were snuffed-out cigarettes in an ashtray. After I knocked on his door, his skinny frame stepped out from behind the screen door and he looked like Christmas had just arrived from Burning Man. A gap of chin split his beard in two by a gap of chin, and if it were not for his feeble eyes, hidden behind thick, recycled-bottle glasses, I would have been nervous. I got a weird sense of Déjà vu. I somehow knew, maybe in a dream, that I would be giving away my childhood to the Anti-Santa.
Over the phone I told him that I was getting rid of it all. Almost every single video game that I owned had to go. I felt like a cruel dog-owner giving away his prize collie to the local pound because Lassie was not a part of the “plan.” Anybody I talked to about doing It could not believe their ears.
“Are you nuts?” “What’s wrong?” “Are you committing suicide?”
As I counted the games to be set aside for our last trip together, I kept meeting more and more resistance. The wicker basket was slowly filling up with discarded treasures, and I could feel my brain double-taking. My heart was aching, and a slow crunch was folding my stomach. It was physically hurting me to get rid of all the games. This was a save file that really did hurt to delete.
I easily invested dozens of hours into each game, clocking in and working at understanding and beating them all. I played these games with family, friends, even girlfriends. Anyone that has played a game with me practically owned a share of it all, and to a kid-version of me, it must have looked like the fire sale from hell. But I kept going.
And after a little bit, it didn’t hurt as bad. The games I played were just that: games I played. There was a plan to be able to say “I can detach myself from my favorite things because they are not me, and I am definitely not them.” When I look back at what others told me, their points definitely have merit, because I did give away very close and irreplaceable objects from a time when all I would do is entertain myself with them. But all I really have are the memories.
I don’t play the games anymore, and sure they’re nice to look at, but wouldn’t they be better off being in the possession of someone that will actually do something with them. Coveting the object for the sake of coveting it is not paying respect to its utility, nor is it paying respect to anyone that does not have the luxury to own something for the sake of owning it. It’s like pulling out a tree I used as a base in games of freeze-tag and carrying it around with me everywhere, just because I enjoy a rush of nostalgia every couple months. I’m not pulling out my roots or giving away a piece of me, because, all the right things are safe in my noggin; comfort comes from within, not without.
The man understood that I was giving them away for a specific reason, but he still insisted on giving me $40 for the set of games. What a small amount for all the birthday and Christmas gifts of the past 22 or so years.
Oh well, it wasn’t that emotional.
—
Note: The man’s name is “Nintendo” Dan and he sells, collects, and repairs old video games. Google him.
At this moment, I’m on a quest to, finally, beat all of the games I own. By doing this I can get rid of the MANY games just sitting on my shelf, doing nothing.
It’s a tough thing you did, but the right thing. Spend that $40 wisely. 🙂
– Cameron
P.S. – I’m still in search for a Super Metroid. lol
Sucks, because one of the games I gave away was Super Metroid, unless it wasn’t and I have it hidden in my room somewhere. I’ll look for it, because now that you mention it, I don’t remember giving it away. Also, to tie up a story thread, the $40 went straight to partying.
I would seriously pay $40 for Super Metroid.
Ha ha. GREAT investment! 😉
Wow, I can definitely relate to the “pain” of giving away old games. Even games that have been collecting dust for years are almost inseparable.
You are one of my favorite peer writers. In the top 3 for sure. The emotions you convey are written so well that they are almost tangible. I hope to be at your “first” book signing event when Oprah adds you to her book club ;P
I fully support and foresee a future in your writing.
Hey there Marco,
Man… it hurts me to know you did what you did. It’s understandable that as grown ups, we need to move on from “childhood” things but we should never get rid of the inner child in us. I would have kept a few of the games, just for nostalgia purposes.
And by the way, Super Metroid was one of my favorites. Later!
My kindred spirit and friend.