pixel for a thought: your first game

How much does your "first game" affect your paradigm as a gamer later on in life—or even just as a person?

Although I spent many happy hours in my childhood watching my father play the Atari 2600 and Macintosh OS9, it wasn't until one night when he opened the day's mail and revealed a sleek DVD case for Bugdom 2 that I learned a life lesson.
The colorful packaging depicted 2002-era the very latest, vibrantly 3D graphics; the plastic wrap reflected my shining eyes perfectly; the case felt just a tad chilly from its temporary fresh state of preservation. Mind you, this was the actual Mac CD—not the iPhone app you're probably more familiar with (if at all) that would've been so incredibly farfetched in those days, the Star Trek technology I stood in awe of but never imagined as realistically possible. 

And, even better, it was the sequel. The sequel is always better than the first one, right? It had to be. It was mean, clean, shiny. I couldn't take my eyes off the eighth wonder of my world.

"Go ahead. You can play it first," Dad told me. 

I couldn't believe it! Sure, it was technically the family's game. We would all share it, of course. But for all I cared, it was practically my game. 

I popped it in the tray, double-clicked the giant frosted icon, looked at everything in the menu screen before deliberately, finally, momentously clicking upon the words NEW GAME.

Far be it from me to say that the rest of the gameplay experience was nothing but walking on air. My immature brain got stuck time and again on simple tasks; sometimes even my hands failed me in the (unfortunately too many) moments where dexterity and manual timing were absolutely critical. Playing that game was like eating cake, but sometimes I'd get sick, or find out it was just a lie. Some days I'd laugh my way along—others days I grunted and groaned and despaired that I could never finish it on my own.

But boy, when I finally smoked the bees out of the hive, and my little grasshopper identity named Skip climbed inside, retrieved his stolen backpack, and began a ceremonious finale dance—I punched my fists into the air and declared I'm a gamer. Without that experience, I would not be writing this blog. I wouldn't be half of who I am today: a writer, a dreamer, with a passion for bytes.

Now, maybe you've been breathing games since you were three and so you can't remember your "first game" the way many people don't remember their first "real food"—it just naturally occurred. Maybe you don't consider yourself a "gamer" and you simply ingest games the way the mainstream audience ingests the newest blockbuster flick. But are you really aware of how much that first game, or those first few games, might have influenced your personality or your paradigm? We are what we eat—we are what we read—we are what we play. How did your first game (or even just the absolute favorite ones you've discovered over the years) define you?