Rescuing the Princess

Before Link could walk, he could already expertly manipulate a dual analog stick and wield a Wii remote as if it were an extension of his arm. When Link was a baby, I would hold him in my arms, swaddled in a blanket, trying to get him to sleep, while I occupied myself with a late-night session of Legend of Zelda, Skyward Sword. Sometimes I think this kid will bust out an Ocarina and jam out in B major with the number of hours he spent as a toddler dozing off to the Main Theme on repeat. Dun dun dun, dun dun dun, dun-dun-dun-dun. That heroic, descending chord pattern. Classic stuff. When I’d come to bed after, Meg would say, “Were you up playing that stupid game again, Shawn.” It was like a lot of things in our marriage. It was something Meg just couldn’t understand. Gannon had his hooks in her for sure.

Now that Link is turning five, he is flexing his social muscles. When my brother asked him who his ‘best girl’ was after Christmas dinner, he said, “Ms. Infante.” That’s his kindergarten teacher. When asked why, Link said, “Because she’s so pretty… everyone in my class is soooo good looking… but Ms. Infante is the prettiest.” Everyone laughed. Meg joked that he’s a little kiss-ass. Link asked, “What’s a kiss-ass mommy?” And she told him not to repeat that, ensuring that he would. Ad nauseam. All day and night.

The kid was always into sports. NBA 2K was my go-to when he was cranky and wouldn’t sleep—it mesmerized him like those solar system crib mobiles used to hypnotize newborns before the internet. Sorry, Fisher-Price. You are the weakest link, goodbye.

But, yeah, Legend of Zelda, Skyward Sword was our real jam. Still is, even though Link is turning five next week. Sky Loft. An island floating above the clouds. Link flying a Loft Wing to uncharted lands. An orchestral soundtrack. How can you beat it? Journeying through forests and deserts. Wielding beetle drones, whips, and parachutes to navigate the terrain. A waking dream. An adventure. A mystery. A heroic journey. All directed at the noblest of pursuits—rescuing the princess.

And these days, Link has a princess in his life who needs rescuing.

* * *

We are out at our favorite restaurant, Coalhouse Pizza & Pasta. Meg is asking Link how his day was at school, and he looks up at her blankly and says, “Ms. Infante is out for her dad’s funeral.”

“What did you say?” Meg asks.

“Ms. Infante is out,” he repeats.

“Who told you her father died?” Meg asks.

“The substitute just said she was at her dad’s funeral,” Link says, then looking over at me, making the connection, he says, “You aren’t going to die, are you, Daddy?”

“Not a chance, kiddo. Not unless you zap me with a laser beam. Pow Pow.” Link laughs.

His laugh takes me back to my childhood. 8-bit games. The original Legend of Zelda. At sleepover parties and during late-night solo sessions when Mom was sick. Hyrule was a world of pure imagination. It was my safe haven.

I remember all the levels of childhood like cutouts on a video game map in my Nintendo Power gaming magazine. I remember how all eight of us kids—the whole basketball team—packed into the trunk of my mother’s Volkswagen Station Wagon on our way to basketball practice. My mom, with her big 80’s hair, and leather jacket, would chain-smoke in the front seat with the window down. Pizza afterward at Riviera. Riding our BMX bikes to school. Stopping at the pay phone on our way home if we were heading to a friend’s house. Getting a McDonald’s Happy Meal with a bonus toy for dinner was like scoring the Golden Ticket in those days. Mom always took us there after we had to go with her to one of her medical appointments. I thought then that it was a reward for being good at the doctors, keeping my head down in the Berenstain Bears books they always kept in the waiting room at Dr. Whipples. I know now that it was her way of trying to deal with the guilt of what her illness was going to do to us.

When you make a mistake in a video game, you can go back and use what you learned to do better. But in real life, sometimes you can’t correct a mistake. Sometimes it is permanent. You have to live with it. Pay the price. And so does everyone else. Forever. When you die in a video game, you just go back and try again. But in real life, there are no do-overs. Real life is cruel like that.

I remember Mom getting tangled up in the telephone cord when my classmate Jessica called while Mom was preparing dinner, and how I could hear her eavesdropping on the downstairs line because you could do that with landlines. She thought I didn’t know. But eavesdropping went both ways. I eavesdropped on all her calls with Doctor Whipple. I remember playing “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego” and “Oregon Trail” while waiting for Mom at the Latch Key program after she got sick and got tied up with all the medical appointments and had to leave us there a few hours most days before coming to get us. How long was it now since she’s been gone? I could hardly count the time. There was only before and after.

* * *

When we get home, Link is ready to use up all the energy he has stored up and go on a rampage of sofa diving, puzzle building, rough play, and impromptu monologues. It is go-time for Shawn and Meg. Meg grabs a glass of wine, and I prepare myself for the onslaught. After a bout of Link’s run attacks, where I flip him over and drop him on sofa cushions with loud explosion sounds, he retreats to his tablet and eventually becomes introspective. “I hope Ms. Infante is back in school tomorrow,” he says, as if to himself.

I knew it was coming. I was waiting for it. Preparing my answer.

“Hey Dad,” Link says, “I don’t like that people die. Why doesn’t God just stop death so we can all stay together forever.”

Link has told me that he knows where people go when they die, that they are in another place, and that he even knows what it’s like there. One night, Link freaked Meg and me out when he told us that Meg’s brother who died before he was born had brought him on an adventure to a brick oven pizza joint on the other side. Meg was especially incredulous. But I pointed something out to her that changed everything. “He’s never seen a picture of Frank before. So how does he know that Frank has red hair?” Even Meg had to admit that this was impossible to explain. For hours we debated if we’d ever mentioned Frank or described him or if there were any photos out at Nana’s house he might have stumbled on. But we couldn’t remember anything like that. The mystery became a talking point, but with time we normalized it and accepted that some things just can’t be explained.

So, Link isn’t facing the kind of existential crisis you have to grapple with if you don’t believe those things. No. For him, it is more of a personal affront, like when he loses one of his toys, and even if it is one that he barely plays with, he loses his mind and stomps up and down, frenetically checking every corner, trying to find this lost treasure and return it to his toy chest—restoring order to the world.

“Hey bud,” I say.

“Yeah Dad.”

“Remember the TriForce in Zelda?”

“Of course.”

“Remember when Zelda explains that the gods can’t wield the TriForce? Only mortals can. You ever think why that is bud?”

“To give the mortals the power to defeat evil?”

“Very good, bud. That’s the idea. Death is like the TriForce. It helps us gain the three forces of power, courage, and wisdom. And if we don’t have these, we can’t stop evil. It’s not really there to keep us apart. It is more like a teacher.”

“Like Ms. Infante?”

“Not exactly. But I think you’ve got the idea. If there’s no evil and no death, then I guess we wouldn’t get to fight evil and rescue the princess—it would be kind of, boring.”

“Oh,” Link says. “That makes sense. There has to be death. Or there’s no adventure.” As he says this, he continues drawing on his tablet. Earlier that evening, Meg drew a poop emoji, which embarrassed Link at first, but eventually started him on a full-out artistic tour-de-force in which he began creating a whole cast of what he called Poopy People, mimicking Meg’s drawing, but adding arms and legs. After his wise insight, he just keeps on drawing more Poopy People without missing a beat.

I am shocked at how smart this kid is. I look at Meg.

“These games are filling this kid’s head with nonsense,” Meg says. “You really need to get this kid out on the ballfield. No son of mine is going to grow up to be a geeky gamer. I swear, Shawn, if that happens, I’m going to K-I-L-L him. No, I’m going to kill you.”

Link and I look at each other, with the same smirk. Meg just doesn’t understand. She’s deep in Gannon’s grip. But we will show her.

“Hey Dad,” Link says.

“Yes bud?”

“Can we go to The Big Toy Shop on our way home?”

“What for?”

“I need to get something for Ms. Infante.”

“Ask your mother?”

“Oh fine,” Meg says, “Anything to take his mind off of these games.”

So toys are okay, I think, and tablets are okay, but a video adventure like Legends of Zelda, Skyward Sword is the devil. Got it.

* * *

Meg waits in the car while we run into the toy store. The place is filled with brain puzzles, Axolotl plush toys, toy trains, science kits, magnetic blocks, marble runs, model kits, and a whole section of Lego offerings.

While I am looking through the aisles, Link heads straight for the Lego section. “Dad, dad,” Link screams, and I come up behind him where he is looking wide-eyed at a box on the shelf. It is a Lego Link Statue from Skyward Sword. Link is there on a platform of Lego blocks with the Master Sword in one hand and his shield in the other, the sword held high in a heroic, triumphant stance.

“Alright bud, bring it up to the register.”

Link grabs the box and runs up to the counter, saying, “We’ll take this one.”

As the clerk starts ringing us up, I say, “You know kiddo, I don’t know if Ms. Infante ever played Zelda, or if she's going to understand your gift.”

“It’s okay, Dad. I've told her all about it. About where I got my name. Anyway, I have a plan,” Link says.

“Your Mom is going to love this,” I say.

The clerk places the purchase in a white plastic “The Big Toy Store” carry-out bag and we head home.

As I watch my son running to the car with his new purchase, I think back to my Mom taking us to Toys R’ Us. Wandering through the aisles with a shopping cart, pulling down GI Joe figurines, the latest Astronaut Cabbage Patch Kid, Troll dolls, and Rambo figurines, and scouring the racks for every last He-Man that Mattel could offer. I think of how I got my Mom a bracelet the last time I visited her at the hospital. It was one of those link bracelets like we used to make at school, but it was real jewelry. I remember how excited I was to give it to her, but how she never woke up to see it, and how heartbroken I was that I hadn’t thought of it sooner.

* * *

When we get home, Meg and I have our weekly joust. This week she bests me. It is as if she knows every thrust, parry, and slash I have in my arsenal. And she has new magic I haven’t seen before at her disposal. Dark magic. Spells heretofore unknown to the Overworld.

“I know you think you have everything figured out, but don’t you think it’s time we thought about getting out of this place.”

“What do you mean? You love this place.”

“I know, but our kid doesn’t have a yard to play in. The City is so difficult and the primary schools are not the best. Don’t you want to have a nice big house with a yard where he can run around and play – where we can get a dog?”

“Babe. Our jobs are here. Everything is here. This is our world.”

“It’s just so hectic and so expensive. Haven’t you ever wanted a simpler life, an easier life? Like it was where you grew up?”

I think back to the Summer Camp on Lake Hiawatha. To playing Manhunt out in the pines. To AMC movie theaters off the highway. To kids gathering like street gangs in the cafeteria of the Cherry Hill Mall. To music stores with row after row of vinyl and CD cases. Oasis, Metallica, Van Halen, Madonna, Michael Jackson, and the Police. To a world where my mother sang Frankie Vallie and the Four Seasons songs off-key in our Volkswagen station wagon. To the innocent days before the Gulf War when my Mom hadn’t been diagnosed yet. To a world of 8-bit images on grainy screens. To blowing into malfunctioning Nintendo cartridges to get the games to work.

That’s the thing about Gannon. About Demise. They have such simple strategies. Nostalgia. The grief of things gone forever and lost to time. But you have to look forward if you want to keep the spark alive. That’s the trick. That’s the magic of digital lands where death is not fatal and defeat is not final, and where you believe in the power of good to triumph over evil so completely that no obstacle placed in your path can ever make you doubt. The answers are always in front of you, never behind. So you trek on.

“I don’t want to go backward,” I tell her.

“It isn’t going backward. Look at us. Working two jobs. Link being raised by daycare half the time. Juggling tasks just to stay afloat. It’s madness.”

“Let’s plan a trip,” I say. That was always our answer to whatever calamity the Demon King’s Army placed in our path. To get away from the real world for a while to a place in the Caribbean where we could restore some of the wonder that brought us together. Where her contempt toward me for what the world had done to us faded, and I could be her hero again.

“We’ll look at the calendar, but I don’t know how we are going to fit it in. We are booked every weekend until April at this point.”

“So we’ll cancel something. Come on Meg, let’s do it, let’s go somewhere. I could really use it.”

“Okay. Let’s book something,” Meg says and immediately starts scouring the internet and looking at our World of Hyatt rewards suggestions.

While we are having our argument, Link is busy. I keep wandering over to help him with a direction he missed. He is building the statute with green blocks, gray blocks. Building the legs and torso. Finding the accessories. Separating the pieces into piles. Building the hero brick-by-brick, just like I taught him. His very heartbeat emits a magnetic field, like Link’s protective force field, a zone that repels doubt, disbelief, and conflict. A safe space in which magic reigns and there is no fear of danger.

“What do you think of the Ziva Riviera in Cancun?”

“Why don’t we go to Disney World, stay out by the theme park?”

“Do you think Link is old enough?”

“I sure do.”

"I don't know if it's the right time, with everything going on at work."

“We’d always talked about it. The Country Bear Jamboree. Epcot. You know he is crazy about Mickey.”

At the mention of Mickey, Link’s head turns away from his blocks momentarily. Then he is back at it, finding a place where the shield connects to the grip, and clasping the open hand around the hilt of the Master Sword. Moving the arm into place to hold the sword aloft.

“Disney World it is,” Meg says. And I wrench victory from Gannon’s grasp.

“Settled,” I say.

I rush over to see Link’s handiwork.

Link finally completes the last pieces of the Lego statue and holds it up in triumph, saying, “Look Dad, I did it.”

I make a fuss, tussle his hair, and look over at Meg who is shooting disapproving glances in our direction from the kitchen counter. She sips from her glass of wine, preparing to relax once Link turns in. Then, softening, she gives me a certain look and blushes. This is good. I imagine Link and Zelda flying through the skies to save Hyrule from evil forces, journeying to distant lands and unknown adventures.

“What have you got there, bud?” I ask.

“It’s all finished,” Link says.

He holds up the Link Skyward Sword Lego Statue, which has a small handwritten note tied around its neck with a string.

“What is that for, bud,” I ask.

“It is a note for Ms. Infante.”

“Can I read it?”

“Sure Dad, but don’t ruin it, put it back how it was.” With that Link runs over to his Mom, grabs her leg, and asks for some cookies before bed.

I hold the note in my hand and read it: “Don’t be sad. Demise doesn’t win. Link is still here to save the princess! –Link”

I smile at my son. “Good job, Link. Ms. Infante is going to love it.”

“I know,” he says.

The kid is a real chip off the old block. It's okay, Link, I think. Being a daydreamer like your Dad isn't so bad. Keep daydreaming.