Nathan’s grandmother gave him a Chinese-made Gameboy-type handheld computer game for Christmas 2006. A few months later, the screen went on the fritz and we assumed that was the death of his Gameboy. It was just as well; Cathy and I were starting to get a little concerned with how well he was playing the games. (For instance, he got further in Super Marios Brothers than I did.)
When the Gameboy broke, we decided to get it fixed but it just disappeared. Vanished into thin air. Our yaya – the one we fired less than two weeks ago – claimed she had no idea where it was, and Nathan went Gameboy-less for weeks. Then, yesterday, Cathy found it, after months of fruitless searching.
Nathan was beside himself with joy. I, meanwhile, still feel relatively good about the lack of relative violence in his Gameboy 35-in-1 video game cartridge. Let him jump and ‘kill the mushroom,’ or ‘kill the turtle,’ or run faster than ‘the fish! The fish! THE FISH!!”
I’d rather he enjoy his Gameboy now, than when he’s too old to appreciate its simple pleasures. (And when he’ll require more complex, expensive toys.)