When I turned 12 years old I found myself at that awkward age where I wasn’t young enough to be left with a babysitter, but my parents still felt like I wasn’t old enough to be left alone.  This equaled a special kind of torture, which involved tagging along with my parents on their weekend card parties and having to watch over all the other kids who were younger than I was.  This also meant shoving us all in the garage so all the hysterical laughing, crying, and screaming was contained and didn’t interrupt my parents as they concentrated on their royal flushes.  I always had one goal, which was to entertain the other kids for about an hour and then find a way to sneak back into the living room, which was away from the card playing.  In that living room was my savior.  The one thing that could save my retched night and bring back the joy that the last hour had stolen from me.  That one glorious thing was a Nintendo .  My game of choice was Super Mario Bros 3.  I amazed myself at my skill at beating the first world with such ease and I always told myself that I wouldn’t use the whistle this time.  If anyone else wanted to play I often became stingy at the thought of having a second player.  I never wanted the annoying kids to take any of my favorite levels.  Whenever I gave in, I always lost the shot to play the level where Mario got to wear the protective boot.  I also remember the rage I always got when I couldn’t get through the sandstorm or ice world without someone helping me out.  The challenge was never about making it to the end of the game, but trying to get to my favorite boot level before my parents got tired of playing cards and called it a night.  Now don’t get me wrong, at home we had our fair share of video game stuff.  My brothers were notorious for staying up till all hours of the night trying to beat a game on their Sega, but it didn’t hold the same amount of awe as the Nintendo did for me.  I always hated that we never had one at our house.  Years went by and I eventually didn’t have to go to card parties anymore because I was often involved in sports and extracurricular activities at my high school.  Between AP classes and band I really didn’t have time to think about playing video games anymore. 

When I graduated from high school I stayed close to home and decided to go to a local University.  I had my first quarter under my belt and was doing pretty well at adjusting to being an “adult.”  One weekend my mom mentioned to me that Jennifer, one of those annoying little brats at the card parties, needed a book from a class that I had already completed.  Jennifer’s mom was willing to pay for it so I could just drop by and make an offer.  On the drive there, I had a thought about that old Nintendo and how I really would love to get my hands on it again.  When I got to the house and handed over the book Jennifer’s mom asked, “How much are you asking?”  I just smiled and said, “I would rather do a trade.  Do you guys still have that Nintendo that I used to play all the time?”  Jennifer’s mom searched through some closets and found it along with a shoe box full of games.  She handed it all over to me without a second glance.  Apparently her kids hadn’t played with it in years.  It turned out to be a great trade even though I feel like I got the better end of the bargain. It had my favorite game, Mario 3, along with other great titles such as Doctor Mario and Zelda.  I am now 32 years old and still have that same Nintendo.  It takes more cleaning, attempts to get the screen right, and blowing in the cartridge to get the game to start, but it is still going strong.  On stressful days it still brings me peace to plug in my iPod and spend hours trying to beat Doctor Mario.  Weeks still go by where adult responsibilities keep me from even thinking about playing, but there is a nice feeling knowing that it’s still there and ready for my next free Saturday afternoon.