I have recently moved to a new house, once again. It’s always an exciting process to fill the different rooms with all the necessary things and machines that make a family function. Of course, among those items, there are always game consoles. In a previous article, I shared about the ZX Spectrum that was a prominent part of our household in the 80s. However, even before that, we had a peculiar arcade box accompanied by a black and white TV and a variety of Pong imitations. It brought us together, but when Sir Clive’s chocolate bar (ZX Spectrum) came into the picture, it was banished to the attic where it turned bitter and resentful, eventually aspiring to become one of Ultron’s drones in an Avengers movie.
As I grew older, I attended a boarding school in the beautiful countryside of Perthshire as a working-class scholarship student. My affluent friends had a marvelous collection of Nintendo Game & Watches, introducing me to the joy of gaming even during personal moments in the bathroom. However, the atmosphere changed when I entered Bristol University. As struggling students, none of us had the means to buy our own consoles because we spent our money on Cyberball at the Mandela Bar arcade. And then came the 90s… well, I’m sure you already know how games became a significant part of my life during that time.
Living in my flat in Notting Hill, enduring a hangover after a wild GamesMaster party, I would be awoken by the postman delivering a giant bin bag filled with free games. My flat resembled those seen on hoarding TV shows, overflowing with consoles, discs, and cartridges. Among them, one machine stood out as the most impressive I’ve ever owned – the Neo Geo. It provided an authentic arcade experience with a sturdy joypad that could probably be used to lift a bus. Beside the Neo Geo sat my first Amiga, which accompanied me on countless nights playing Championship Manager with my friend Sad Andy. The competitive matches we engaged in lasted longer than the Punic Wars, and the scent of burning cigarette filters in an ashtray resembling Close Encounters of the Third Kind became synonymous with those gaming sessions.
Then came the era of PlayStation. In Ladbroke Grove, I found myself shedding tears while playing Final Fantasy VII. In Highgate, my wife battled her postpartum depression by immersing herself in Crash Bandicoot. She loves that game more than she loves me, but I’m still unsure which one of us presents the greater challenge.
Fueled by the fear of the impending millennium bug that was predicted to cause civilization’s downfall, I made a drastic decision and relocated to the Lake District. I transformed an outbuilding into a dedicated games room, spending my days consumed by Championship Manager on my Alienware PC. Eventually, when planes didn’t start falling from the sky, I decided to reenter the real world and returned to work and life in Glasgow.
The 2000s marked the beginning of numerous incredible gaming experiences with my children. When my first child was four years old, she conquered the levels while I defeated the bosses in Super Mario Sunshine on the GameCube. It was the most unforgettable summer of our lives. Six years later, while residing in Edinburgh, she sat and watched me play Grand Theft Auto IV on the Xbox 360, completely captivated. Her impression of Niko Bellic became the talk of her school.
In 2009, I made a transatlantic move to Nova Scotia, where I dealt with the challenges of NTSC and voltage. I also pondered whether my five-year-old son was old enough to join me in playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II on the PS3 (spoiler: he wasn’t very good). Still, when I asked him recently, he rated it as his second most cherished gaming memory with me. His absolute favorite memory was when I set up an eight-player Super Smash Bros tournament on the Wii U for his 12th birthday party in Toronto. Using a 3DS as one of the controllers, his friends indulged in cake, soda, and Smash Bros in our basement.
As the 2010s rolled in, our go-to party game transitioned from Mario Kart to Quiplash on the Xbox One. I take pride in the fact that my three children could outwit me even before they could get behind the wheel of a car.
Games have not only been there for the good times but also the tough times. When my eldest daughter fell ill in Calgary, she spent a couple of years confined to her room. However, she explored vast virtual lands and built lives in games like Animal Crossing, Harvest Moon, and The Legend of Zelda. She persistently insisted that I try a game called The Last of Us, which marked a turning point as my children began recommending games to me.
Hardly a month goes by without my son suggesting something incredibly unique on Steam. As we entered the 2020s, my youngest daughter took a break from singing and dancing to introduce me to Edith Finch. She couldn’t help but laugh mockingly when I struggled to defeat the last boss in Outer Worlds after 17 failed attempts.
Few families experience a simple and straightforward journey through life, and ours is no exception. We may not have been blessed with consistency and stability, but we found solace in video games. No matter which house we called home, they provided a sanctuary from life’s challenges and a space where we could always share laughter and create lasting memories together.
Life is comparable to a long hike, where our trousers may have holes. Sometimes, we may reach for a memory, only to discover that we no longer carry it with us. However, my gaming memories keep me grounded, even as others fade away on the trail.
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