RIP, Game Boy

When I was a kid, I never really had any money. Now, I'm not complaining; it's not as if I lived amongst inner-city gangbangers, so in that sense I was certainly privileged, but I definitely never had any spending money. My parents were devout members of the Korean Church of Cheapassism and so allowance was out of the question. Chores were, of course, compulsory and not a source of income.

Anyway, around the late 80s - early 90s when I was about...I guess 10 or so, the original Nintendo Game Boy came out, and we were mesmerized. Up until that point, the only portable gaming we had had were those Tiger LCD games. They were kind of fun, but they were fun in the way that Sudoku is fun; kind of enjoyable on the bus, but otherwise, eh. The Game Boy changed all that...this was portable Nintendo! So I decided that I would try to save up money to buy one. I saved every penny I ever found, earned, stole, or swindled, and after about a year or so, I had accumulated a grand total of 36 dollars, leaving me about 60 dollars short. At that rate, I'd be drawing Social Security before I could afford the damn thing. It was time for plan B: complaining to my parents.

Now, my parents have been blessed with absolutely OTHERWORLDLY powers of resistance. I swear they were raised in a gulag or something. I know that if I ever have a kid and he/she so much as looks sad at the store, I'll buy out the entire fucking Toys R Us because I'm such a damn pushover. I got teary at the mall once because the other kids were getting nice toys and I was just getting a 99 cent plastic watergun, and so I came home with nothing. I even tried to get the watergun back in the end, but my mom was having none of it. And I WAS FIVE YEARS OLD! Anyway, the point is, they don't care when I complain. So I gave up and blew 36 bucks on candy and baseball cards and a hat from Wyoming. But I never stopped coveting.

Incredibly, that Christmas, my dad bought me a Game Boy for Christmas. I say my dad because I know my mom would have flipped out if she knew how much it cost. It was by FAR the most expensive gift I'd ever gotten from them (in fact, now that I think about it, it's STILL the most expensive gift I've ever gotten from them), and I treated that thing like it was my firstborn child. I never got a scratch on the screen (not a scratch anywhere on the body either), and I kept all the papers and box and even the original plastic. Yes, sort of like Steve Carell on The 40 Year Old Virgin. And yes, I got made fun of a lot for my OCD obsession with perfection, but it was mine, and it was my baby. Even when I grew up, I never was tempted to sell or trade it in. I kept it in the box and put it on a shelf in my parents' house so I wouldn't lose it while moving around.

Well, this past weekend my family had a yard sale. And of course, without asking, they sold it. For like two bucks. Even in strict monetary terms it should be worth at least $75, probably even $100, but I wouldn't have sold it for twice that much. It hurts to think that someone might be kicking around something I so painstakingly cared for.

Pennywise and pound foolish to their last breath, my parents, who traded $100 for $2, then had the nerve to chide me for spending $30 on my glasses.