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The Surprising Lesson I Learned from My 1988 Nintendo
It’s the lack of hope that kills you.
I’m an old-school gamer. Maybe it’s the elder millennial in me, but few things in life bring me the sense of pride and joy my 1980s Nintendo Entertainment System (NES) brings.
I don’t know who was more excited about the shades of the gray and black plastic console I hurriedly unwrapped that frigid Christmas morning in 1988: my once stoic father, who detested any public displays of emotion, or me. I recall that being my first time witnessing the unfettered joy that lay underneath decades of stress. The second was as a teenager when I inadvertently walked in on him two-stepping around his office to the song “I Believe in Miracles” by Hot Chocolate. As for the last time, I’ve yet to reach the day when I can reflect on the memory without viewing it with sadness.
Over the decades, newer gaming models and one Sega Genesis have sat alongside my NES, yet only the 1988 classic remains. While I’ve dabbled with games like Call of Duty and The Last of Us, there’s nothing like slinging newspapers in Paperboy or hearing the iconic Dada-da-dada-da, da melody as Mario moves through pixelated levels.
Through the moves and milestones, my NES persists. It’s been my anchor through uncertainty, a keeper of secrets told over Taco Bell…
