Atari Was My First PlayStation

I placed the last gift, a PlayStation 5, under our Christmas tree. Even though it was for my boyfriend, my fingers twitched with anticipation. Ever since I won my first gaming system, an Atari 400, I had been a vidiot and looked forward to the long winter nights of competition we had ahead of us. I plugged in the tree lights. Multicolored orbs enchanted my eyes, forcing them to rest on the brilliant star at the top. “Wacka-wacka,” came a ghostly sound and the piercing white star softened into an orange ball. My old friends, Ms. Pac-man and Q*bert, kidnapped my mind; took it back to that momentous day.

“Mom, Maaaahm!” I shouted, the echo resounding through the house. My mother came running in a panic, expecting to find that something horrible had happened to her twelve-year-old daughter. Oblivious, I rambled excitedly about the puzzle contest I found on a box of cookies. I had entered that spring and each month I completed a puzzle then received a more difficult one for six preliminary rounds. That day, I had received an invitation to compete against ninety-nine other finalists in Manhattan.

After blurting this out in one long breath, I inhaled and looked at Mom, my eyes pleading, then crestfallen as I recognized the look of disapproval on her face. I did not want to accept the words she was saying as she explained why I was not allowed to attend. “Sweetie,” she said, “I know you are disappointed, but contests like these usually turn out to be cons.”

I thrust the letter toward her, hoping that my mom would change her mind when she saw the official letterhead of the notice and the brightly colored brochure of prizes. Instead, the furrow in her brow became a trench and her head rotated from left to right and back again. I heard the disapproval in her voice as Mom read aloud from the letter, “All participants need their parents to sign a release form allowing contestants to be used in promotions and commercials if requested.”

“So, what,” I said.

 “I WILL NOT let you be exploited by some cookie company for any contest,” came her stern voice.

Before I could argue, my grandfather walked into the living room. “What’s all the ruckus,” he asked with a grin. Grandma and Grandpa lived in Florida but were visiting for the holidays.

“I may win an Atari 400!” I exclaimed.

“An a-what-e?” my grandfather inquired. My mom groaned as I began to retell my story.

“Oh, let her go,” Grandfather pleaded with Mom. “We’d love to watch her compete and it’s not often that we get to spend the day in Manhattan anymore.”

“Why are you going to Manhattan?” questioned my dad. He had just come in from a hard day of work in that very same city.

“My granddaughter was invited to participate in a contest in Manhattan and I’d like to go watch,” answered Grandpa.

Mom stood there shaking her head and Dad sided with my mother, his negativity palpable. He was also from the mindset that the contest was a capitalist scam.

“Come on, Son,” said Grandpa. “I’ll pay for a fancy dinner and we’ll all have a great time, regardless.

“Please, pleeease,” I begged.

My parents didn’t look happy, but my mother always melted for her father-in-law. “Well,” she started, “I guess there isn’t any harm in going to dinner in Manhattan. What do you think?” Mom looked at Dad. Before he could answer, I embraced him in a giant hug thanking him for giving me the shot. I hugged Grandpa, covering his cheek with kisses as he gave me a mischievous wink.

A few days later, we all piled in my father’s van and he drove us to Manhattan. As we pulled up in front of the address, I noticed the drab buildings and the overwhelming feeling of impoverishment. Were my parents right? Was this a scam? I began to wonder. I got out of the van and immediately felt ill. That foul assailant, Nervousness, punched me in the stomach. I sucked in a breath, closed my eyes, and pulled on the building’s door handle.

Opening my eyes, I saw a bunch of children around my age milling about in a giant vestibule. On the right was an old wooden desk; a remnant from some defunct city school, most likely. The woman behind it was meticulously checking in the contestants, ignoring the din around her. An erratic line of kids snaked away from the desk and a girl towards the tail stuck her tongue out at me. The boy at the end waved me over. I group hugged my mom and dad, smiled at my grandpa and grandma, and took my place in line. I waved as they were escorted away by an older gent through a door on the left.

When the woman finished with me, she stood up and announced that the room was ready for us. She pointed to the door behind her and the girl with the nasty tongue pushed her way through it first. “Good luck,” I said to the kind boy. He smiled and nodded. We entered single file into the room and the man from the vestibule asked us to find a seat. When everyone was seated and the room settled into silence, he told us the packet on our desks had 100 short puzzles and we had 100 minutes to solve them. I finished mine in fifty.

Am I the first done? I glanced around and saw everyone still hard at work. I must be missing something. I went back through the packet and checked my work. Looking around one last time, I raised my hand and the proctor came over to collect my packet. I passed the mean girl on my way out and noticed she was not even on the last page. Filled with self-doubt, I left the room and sat with my family to wait.

After an eternity, the room began to fill with the sound of children reuniting with their parents. I chatted with my mother and tried not to second-guess my answers. I waved to the friendly boy as he exited the room. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. A few minutes later, the proctor came out for a minute to announce that the contest was over and the scoring had begun. My mom squeezed my hand and my nervous legs stopped kicking. “Where does everyone want to go for dinner?” my grandmother asked, her attempt at conversation a welcome distraction. We only had a minute to mull over the question before the proctor reentered the room; a few puzzle packets in hand. Everyone hushed.

“Well,” he began, “I’d just like to thank everyone for your participation. You are all great contenders and the best of thousands.” He pointed to the wall behind him and told us that he would hang a list of the top fifteen runners-up. Each had won a basket of cookies from the sponsor to be claimed at the check-in desk on the way out. “And, with no further ado, let’s get to the winners,” he said.

This is it, I thought and crossed my fingers. “John Bayer, you have won third place with a score of 96%. Congratulations John,” announced the proctor. The boy I had to come to think of as my puzzle friend shouted, “Wahoo!” and everyone clapped. “You may see Ms. Nettles at the desk for your prize when you leave.”

“In second place, Angela Fein, with a score of 98%,” the proctor declared. A piercing squeal arose from my left and I caught sight of the tongue girl being swept into an embrace by her parents. Anxiety and Doubt fought each other for control of my emotions; each taking their best swing. I knew that I was smart, but 98% was a really high score. I chastised myself for not triple-checking my answers. The puzzles seemed too easy, and we all know that nothing comes easy. Disappointment and Hope stepped into the ring to vie for control as I sucked in my breath.

“Finally, the winner of a brand-new Atari 400, with a score of 99% is . . . Regina Nonemaker!” I heard a gasping sound and realized it was coming from my own lungs. My mom screamed, “Yes!” and my dad looked like the Cheshire cat, his whole face a grin. I hugged them both and hugged my grandmother. I turned to Grandpa and squealed, “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” After all, it was because of him that we were there. His eyes shined and I felt his pride.

Well, it wasn’t a scam, I thought with a snicker, but did not dare to say. I took my father’s hand and led him to the desk. He placed the Atari system on his shoulder and carried it out like an 80’s teenager with a new boom-box. When we were all inside the van, Grandpa insisted that I be the one to choose where we ate. It was a no-brainer for me—surf and turf at a seaside restaurant. I barely tasted it though. I couldn’t wait to get home to play Space Invaders, the free game that came with every Atari system.

“Cuckoo,” came the sound that returned me to my current time and place. I realized that I was snickering out loud and quickly shut my mouth. I didn’t want to wake my boyfriend. I knew if I did, he would get his present early and we would be up all night. I turned off the tree lights, climbed into my pajamas, and fell into the land of slumber where giant space invaders were conquered by Lara Croft and Crash Bandicoot.