Love’s Labour’s Lost … and Found

This a love story. Like all great love stories it is about infatuation, contentment, pain, and loss. I was six, and he was new to the States, just over from Japan. He was high-maintenance, constantly asking for money when we were together. His name was Pac-Man.

There was a pizzeria, Caruso’s, close to my school that not only served the world’s most delicious artery-cloggers but also had a Pac-Man Machine. Tall and yellow, the cabinet beckoned me closer with its dancing ghosts, serenading me in 3-channel audio.

From the first moment I held the joystick in my tiny, pizza-grease-smeared hand I was in love. Such a simple game, yet so alluring. I would spend Friday afternoons thinking of different strategies on how to negotiate the board, occasionally reaching down into my pocket to rub my thumb along the edge of a quarter that waited there. When I closed my eyes to sleep, I could see that familiar black and blue labyrinth.

I was saved from a life of penury when Atari introduced Pac-Man for its 2600 home console. Now my quarters were no longer sitting in my pocket waiting for a trip to the pizza shop but slowly collected in an empty milk jug. Lest I forget why I was hoarding my money, I garnished the outside of my bank with renditions of Pac-Men chasing ghosts.

During the Christmas of 1982, I was given an Atari 2600 and a copy of Pac-Man. This was the greatest Christmas ever. I immediately abandoned all of my remaining unopened gifts and attempted to hook up my newfound treasure. The Atari included a game called Combat, which was entertaining, but my refined tastes preferred Pac-Man. With no school and the bitter weather that accompanies late December, I spent my days and nights running from ghosts and chasing cherries.
On the evening of December 30, 1982 something went wrong. Terribly wrong. My hands started to ache. I was unable to move my wrist or pick anything up. My parents rushed me to Children’s Hospital where I was triaged, x-rayed, and moved back into the exam room to wait for an orthopedic surgeon. The doctor strode into the room with the easy demeanor distinctive to pediatrics and gently moved my arm and hand through a series of awkward positions. The exam was periodically punctuated by my yelps of protest. After a particularly heartfelt cry, he furrowed his brow, meticulously looked at the radiograph of my right hand, and left the room.

Eventually my doctor returned with a group of his orthopedic residents in tow, nominally so that he could demonstrate my limited range of motion. I still believe it was because all sadists prefer an audience. He then explained to my family that I suffered from tendonitis in my hand and wrist, likely from the overuse of a joystick. This was extremely rare in children at the time, therefore he wanted these student doctors to observe my condition.

Rest and ice eventually healed my hand, but nothing would heal my heart. I had to severely curtail my gaming activity. The following year, my interests expanded to include a game called Swordquest, which was slower in pace and therefore less taxing on my hands.

As I grew up and played with other game systems I was constantly aware of my physical limitations. I could not use the Nintendo controller pad for more than 30 minutes without some pain. Strategy-based computer games took only a little longer for fatigue to present, and nothing filled me with pure delight like my early Pac-Man days. I avoided playing most games or even being around video games as a way to prevent the inevitable ennui that followed each session.

When I went to college I decided to study engineering. That involves significant time using a computer. My freshman year, I also double-majored in PuyoPuyo. This also involves significant time using a computer. I affectionately called PuyoPuyo ‘The Thinking Man’s Tetris,’ and I was “thinking” all the time. One morning, after indulging too much the night before, I could not move my fingers enough to grip a pencil. Explaining my circumstance to the Diff EQ professor (as a justification for why my problem set was late) would only invite a series of derisive comments. I came to the poignant realization I would need my hands for the rest of my life to earn a living and that I couldn’t do so and still play video games. I had to choose, and I chose my career. This turned out to be a good decision since I was shortly afterward diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis, and I started to have even more problems with my hands.

I still love to watch video games. I have “helped” my husband play numerous versions of Final Fantasy, and I have organized several LAN parties. Over the years I have toyed with trying to play games again. Two things have stopped me: the pain of holding and using traditional game controllers and my lack of enthusiasm for modern video games.

All this changed on a snowy evening this last January. My husband and I had dinner with some friends and afterward we were invited back to their house to play Wii. I agreed, planning to watch the festivities but not directly participate. During the explanation of how to control the Wii Remote, I thought that this new type of interface that integrates whole arm movement might not bother my hands. Suddenly, I was overcome with anxiety. Can I handle the public humiliation of looking ridiculous? Can I handle another failure?

A blue light pulsed from the glossy white monolith, asking me if I was planning to sulk for the rest of the night. I decided to face my fears and give it a try. It was love at first serve. Some people say that you never fall in love the same way twice, but I disagree. Every moment of my first game of Wii Tennis mirrored my childhood joy and delight playing Pac-Man. I couldn’t sleep that night. My thoughts wavered between incoherent elation and careful scheming over how to procure this elusive device for myself.

The remote feels secure cradled in my hand. The gesture used to hold the the remote evokes a sensation similar to holding hands. There is no pain. I can play the game without awkwardly gripping the controller or mashing buttons. The included game bundle, Wii Sports, is exactly the type of game I love: simple, but addicting. I don’t want to save the world (or even the princess), build the next new theme park, or shoot aliens. All I want is to make par and figure out how to power serve.
I may not be able to move Pac-Man around his blocky maze, but I can scamper around my living room, cursing as I miss my timing on a backhand, having the time of my life.