Now viewing: Legend of Zelda
Wait…I Only “Borrowed” That Game?
In 1987 three very important things happened in my life:
1) I turned nine years old—a great age to be, I believed, as it was the first time I’d ever been that old and it was a year older than eight.
2) I kissed a girl for the very first time. In the lunch line of the school cafeteria. Her name was Shauna. She was almost 11. And, for the record, she kissed me—a precedent that, sadly, would not last.
3) My mother bought me a copy of The Legend of Zelda.
Of those three things, only one has endured: Zelda. (Last I heard Shauna was living out west somewhere raising alpaca…no, seriously!) Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I still own my iconic piece of gaming history. The golden cartridge is faded, discolored, scratched and chipped. It spends its life in a sweltering, stuffy storage building, seeing the light of day only twice a year: when I come annually to scavenge for Christmas decorations and again a few weeks later when I come to put them back.
The Nintendo has been broken for years. Frankly, the Zelda cartridge serves no purpose other than to remind me of those heady days of my youth when video games had learning curves harsher than the price tag on a Ferrari. Those days when side-scrolling was just the way things were done. Those days when you paid for a game and, by paying for it, owned it. Dive deeper…
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