What did people give for presents before video games? I know that some people still don't want to receive and/or give video games for Christmas or Hanukkah or birthdays. I know that, but it doesn't make sense. Video games are expensive, you usually have more than you need, and your grandparents will invariably get you the wrong one.
They are the perfect gifts.
Even now, when I'm an adult who makes human money for job work, I get excited by Christmas. I'll literally buy games on sale and order Amazon gift wrap so they feel more special. That's not cute or healthy. It's really lonely and really sad and really the yearning this season gives me for the holidays.
My parents were never really rich. Scratch that, my mother grew up dirt poor in Chicago, and my father grew up in middle class Iowa. My mom always dreamed of providing the happy Christmas her family never had, and my Dad, a non-religious Jewish kid who--again--grew up in Iowa, just wanted a chance to join the fun.
When they had kids, my parents wanted to create a magical holiday experience for their kids. Unfortunately, because they were broke, those experiences had to be "sweetened" a bit. Small gifts would be put in a slightly bigger box, which itself was inside an even slightly bigger box. Decorations would be handmade by my mom. And video games would be treated like nitroglycerin, only to be handed out very carefully.
Maybe it's the expensive nature of games that, as a kid, made them feel so valuable. Kids don't really understand high-priced gifts that aren't electronic. If you gave me a nice cookware set as a kid, I would've been an asshole. I know this because when I was a kid, I got a nice cookware set and I was an asshole.
I mean, I really was a piece of crap about that cookware set. My parents thought it would help me lose weight to learn to cook for myself. I thought this was freaking Christmas and I had cleaned the house for grandma, so maybe make good on the freaking games.
That ungrateful piece of shit child just wanted games. Always. Give a child a toy for Christmas, and they'll play for a day and then get it broken by their bully, Elliot. Give a child a video game for Christmas, and they'll play for the rest of their lives and Elliot will be really nice about it because he also wants to play Mortal Kombat II.
Video games were aspirational life changers for me when I was a kid. They weren't something to do after school or a fun way to kill time after chores. They were the reason to put up with school and family and bullies. This isn't a new thought; I know I'm not the first sad kid to express this nostalgia for bad times. But it is why the holidays felt so big.
When you're a kid during the holidays (and birthdays and bar mitzvahs and bat mitzvahs and not-confirmation, because all I got was a Precious Moments doll), you can just ask for video games. You make a list! You look over the year of games you couldn't afford and never dreamed of having and say, "Yes! F-Zero will change my life for the better!"
It was almost like going to a casino. There was a great chance you'd get Yoshi's Island or Sonic & Knuckles. But there was also a chance you'd get Bubsy and that was the game you'd have to play (checks watch) forever. And your status in the local friend community could be made or broken on that game. Elliot hated Bubsy.
I recognize that I'm nostalgic from a time when my parents struggled, and I had to bribe a bully to not punch me in the face with video games. I know, I know. But I do miss the sense that this was the time of the year to get new games. Not because they were on sale or, you know, just coming out. Because it was the only chance I'd have to actually get a new game.
And then it stopped. We get older. We get jobs. We can't throw a fit if someone gets us clothes. Although, really? Clothes? This is the time for that? You have the chance to buy me anything that matches who I am and you choose to change me? I refuse! Only I can pick out the right clothes resting between XL and XXL. You don't know me!
Now we can buy games for ourselves and that's its own kind of great. It's nice to be able to buy Final Fantasy XV for myself without worrying my mom will get confused by, let's be honest, a really weird title. Having control is better than having no control. Unless this is Final Fantasy XV, which thinks "having control" while driving is the same thing as not. It's my only big complaint on what is otherwise a fine adventure.
At the same time, we can't lose sight of that magic. We can't forget how special games really are. When you're in the middle of making them, writing about them, or obsessively playing them, it's easy to forget how magical they once seemed, or fret that the magic is gone. It's not. Games are better than they've ever been, and I should know because I said so and this is my space so suck it. Also, Bubsy. Bubsy sucked.
I know I should be saying that video games aren't important and that the holidays are about giving and togetherness. But video games are important and togetherness sucks. Any of you want to hang out with me? No? Then I don't want to hear anymore about it.
No, I'm kidding. Obviously the togetherness mattered. The feeling of eager gratefulness. The show-off joy of having something that the richer kids did not, if even for a slight moment. That all came from wanting to play games with and show games to other people. The escapism was good, but the sense that the world was good is better.
I don't eagerly tear open boxes anymore. As my family members (and some friends) have died, the opening of gifts has grown slower and more careful. I don't really want to get to the prize inside. Why would I? My Christmas list is now a B-team of old games and books on sale that my parents can afford. I just want to keep that experience in my hands before it disappears.
Instead, I buy the games for people now. I find the experiences people would like and help them escape for a little while. I introduced my sister to Telltale games. I got my brother into XCOM. Last year, I installed Dosbox on my dad's computer so he could play Super Tetris for the first time in 20 years. He didn't leave his office all day and since the door was open, I knew he wasn't masturbating. Did I need to explain that last part? Probably not.
That childhood magic of games still exists. I just can't approach it the same way anymore. Games are expensive for a kid, but cheap for an adult. Instead, I have to try to give a little bit of that magic back to the people who gave it to me. Giving is good and maybe I can get people to have that wellspring of joy I had, even for a minute.
Also, I really want Dishonored 2.
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Mike Drucker is a Giant Bomb contributor and co-head writer for “Bill Nye Saves the World,” coming to Netflix in 2017. He's also written for The Tonight Show, Nintendo, The Onion, and SNL. He also co-hosts the podcasts, “How To Be a Person” and “The Room Where It's Happening.” You can follow him on Twitter @mikedrucker and watch him on Twitch under the surprising name “MikeDrucker.”