First On The Block

I gripped my uncomfortably square NES controller in my sweaty child's hands and stared up at the screen in disbelief. Mike Tyson's unconscious cartoon avatar laid in the back of the screen, eyes closed. I had knocked him down three times; he wasn't getting back up. But still I just stared. Mario, clad in referee garb made an entrance from the right-hand side of the screen, paused for that maddening moment, and then raised his hand as a cartoon talking bubble appeared over his head, cementing the victory I'd been chasing for almost four months with three simple letters. TKO.

Gaming was, at this point in time, still in its infancy. The feat I had just pulled off wasn't digitally recorded, I did not receive an online trophy for what I'd just managed to do, nor did I have a network of virtual friends from around the globe with which to share my achievement. Such things would have sounded like sci-fi malarkey to anyone you were trying to describe them to.

My low-grade hypnosis wore off as a picture of Mike Tyson appeared on the screen and text appeared below it. "Great fighting..." That's as far as I got. I jumped up, quickly discarded the PJ's I was wearing and hastily threw on a pair of jeans that I was starting to outgrow and were too tight for me and a T-shirt and ran as fast as my legs could carry me to my next-door neighbor's house. The kid that lived there, Mike, was younger than me by a couple of years but was also an avid gamer and had also been sinking massive hours into beating Mike Tyson.

"I did it, Mike!" I shouted as he opened the door. "Did what?" he replied, stepping out onto the porch. I remember he was dressed in basketball clothes and was holding a basketball, as if I'd caught him right before heading to the closest hoop at our friend Eric's house, right around the corner. "I knocked out Mike Tyson!" To my surprise, Mike didn't share my enthusiasm. "No you didn't." he said, placing his basketball on the welcome mat and turning to face me, his face calm and incredulous. "Yuh-Huh!" I said. My skills of debate left a lot to be desired, sue me, I was just a kid.

"Show me." said Mike. I led him back to my house and to my bedroom where to my dismay, the ending credit sequence (which I hadn't even gotten to enjoy) had concluded and the game was just cycling through it's standard attract mode sequences. I looked at the TV, and then at Mike who somehow managed to say "I knew you were lying." without actually saying it. I stomped out of my house, not even looking behind me to make sure Mike was following and set off for the end of the street and another friend's house.

I got the same reaction out of Richie, out of Sally who lived right across the street from me and Mike, out of Tom, the oldest kid in our friend group who lived at the other end of the street and the aforementioned Eric who went so far as to laugh in my face. "You? No way." And so I circled the neighborhood, followed by a steadily growing audience that was only there to witness me make my insane claim to others for the pure entertainment value. Every kid I tried to tell followed me to tell the next kid. Well except for Tom, as I recall Tom was in high school and couldn't be bothered with such petty matters.

After about the eighth kid called me a liar, I'd had enough. I led the rabble to Big John's house. Big John was a husky lad, (the moniker was well-deserved) the best fighter in the neighborhood and acted in an unofficial capacity as the neighborhood sheriff to all of us. That description may have made Big John out to be a bully; he wasn't. Big John was kind. He had a sense of morality way beyond his years. He resolved disputes between us, looked out for us, made sure we were united and for the most part, harmonious. On one occasion, my parents even reached out to Big John for a situation that was beyond them but that's a story for another day.

When we got to Big John's house he was sitting on the porch just watching the street. This was before phones, before tablets; this kid literally came out to his porch on a Saturday morning and waited for his block to entertain him because in those days, the block eventually would. "What's going on, guys?" he asked as we approached. When I spoke, my voice came out in that whiny little kid voice due to the accusations I'd faced all day. I hated the sound of it then, I cringe to think of it now. "I knocked out Mike Tyson, and no believes me!"

John leaned back in his chair and grinned. "No kidding?" he asked. I nodded enthusiastically. "Tyson is impossible. NO ONE can beat him. We've all been trying for months." Sally said from behind me, to sounds of agreement from the rest of the kids. John rubbed a hand over his chin, as if he was contemplating something of great importance. "Okay. If you did it... Do it again."

Back to my street we marched. We knocked on Tom's door and requested permission for all of us to sit around his family's ridiculously large living room to watch me do what I said I could. This was a high pressure situation for me, and I'm happy to report that I prevailed, and finally got the recognition (and applause) that I'd been clamoring for all day long.

I was the first on my block to do it, to show that something that initially appeared impossible to everyone could be done. It felt great when I did it the first time, but that feeling was dwarfed by the feeling I got after I did it in front of a live audience who all thought I was full of it.

This may seem like a gamer story and it kind of is, but what I remember from that day is a feeling, not of accomplishment but connectedness. All of the kids in my neighborhood attended one of four different schools. As a Filipino boy, I was the only minority, the rest of these kids were white and while I had already felt the sting of racism at school several times this was never an issue in the place I laid my head down at night. I always felt very safe.

All of us kids, ranging in age from 9 all the way up to 15 were connected to each other, our lives and experiences interwoven. That day, what connected us all was a silly little video game but we found different things every day to strengthen both our bond and our pride that were initially formed in simple proximity.

With no children of my own, this leaves me to ponder if such comradery still exists today, the world being as Online as it has become. I hope that some version, diluted or not still does. It pains me to think I live in a world where the kids on the block are all strangers to each other because if that's the case, technology has crippled essential social skills and cheated children out of something that is invaluable, and free.