When I was a kid, maybe 7 or 8ish, I made my first substantial sum of money:
$20
I was ecstatic. I decided then that I would save up my money and buy some vidya. Growing up poor, I was just beginning to understand the value of money.
I was really into Pokemon. I lived for Pokemon, and Pokemon lived for me. I was the only kid in class, possibly the whole school, who didn't have Red or Blue or Pokemon cards or anything. Even the Gameboy Pocket I owned was found at the city dump or something.
So I save my money. I save up money from birthdays, from Christmas, and my "weekly" $5 allowance for slaving my *** off. I didn't care, I was going to have my game. My Pokemon. I had my choice team thought out and everything. I didn't need a link cable. I didn't need a Gameshark. I just needed my game; I just needed to belong.
Eventually I saved up $76 exactly. Being about 9 at this point, I was unable to have a bank account. So, with my mother's permission, I stored the money in hers.
You can't imagine how exited I was. I was about to have my game, the game that would allow me to play with the other kids at recess. The game that would make my friends talk to me again (Pokemon was serious ****ing business at my school).
Anyway, so over the summer I decided that $76 would be more than enough for me to get a gameboy game. I went up to my dad and asked him for my $76. He told me that I had spent it already. I told him he was wrong. This was my father's "angry switch": telling him he was wrong about something.
He got four inches away from my face and, alcohol on his breath, yelled at the top of his lungs about how I had used it to buy "some po-kay-man" game. I yelled at him at the top of my lungs and told him that I hadn't and that he was wrong. He kicked my *** and grounded me for a month.
Two nights later I snuck out to the fridge at midnight to get some ice cream. I used the fridge handle for leverage to get to the freezer (lolshort), but the fridge door opened instead. I looked inside, and about $76 worth of Heineken, Jack Daniels, and Rum was in my fridge. I cried for days. My father thought I was mentally retarded and tried to get me enrolled in a retard classes for next year.
Fast forward about a year. Same ****ty house, same ****ty friends, same ****ty gameboy, same ****ty everything. But this year was different: I saved enough to buy Pokemon Blue.
I was in. Finally, I wouldn't be the outcast anymore. I even managed to get two Charmeleon cards over the summer. I was so excited, you couldn't imagine. I even managed to make a lifetime friend because of my Pokemon Blue. It had sparked a conversation between us and we were friends from there on out.
My schoolwork, however, was...lacking. My parents didn't help with homework, and I was too afraid to speak up in class. Maybe I was just a stupid kid. To this day I still wonder if that was why my dad hated me. When I brought home my first report card (the year we began using letter grades), my dad told me that when I was born, he expected me to become President of the United States. He told me that, and that he was ashamed and that I was a mistake. My brother was five years old at this point and getting "Above Expectation"s where I was getting "Needs Improvement"s. Half my age and he had already surpassed me. I was miserable.
But I had my Pokemon. Nothing could take me out of my little bubble; nothing could pry me from my haven.
Happiness is such a naive concept, isn't it?
Well, my grades failed to improve. My father, instead of helping me with my schoolwork, blamed my video game. My one gateway into the sanctuary of my imagination. I was infuriated. Tears bordering my eyelids, I yelled at him. I yelled like I never had before. I called him an asshole and a liar. I told him he was wrong.
My rage was met only with a barely-noticeable chuckle. I was angry beyond words. My fury at his ignorance was met only with amusement.
"I'm wrong, eh?" He asked. It was then that I snapped from my super-saiyan-like trance and realized my mistake. Tears were running down my face and my pleas for forgiveness were halted by hiccups. I tried to ask him for mercy, but to no avail.
My father stood up, walked into my room. He returned with my Gameboy and my Pokemon Blue. I begged him not to. I cried and pleaded and begged him to spare my game. He pulled the cartridge from the Gameboy, opened the window, and flung my Gameboy Pocket into the street. It broke on impact. Then he held up my gateway, my sanctuary, my Pokemon Blue.
He didn't listen. He walked right up to my face, I could smell the alcohol on his breath. A grin crept across his mug, and the tears only rolled down my face harder.
My father brought his hand up, holding my Pokemon Blue for me to see. With one last burst of will, yelled at the top of my lungs:
"IF YOU BREAK MY POKEMON, I'LL RUN AWAY AND NEVER COME BACK"
He laughed at my face and got even closer, close enough so that our noses were touching. He gave me a kiss and then he gave me my ticket. I put my walkman on and said, 'I might as well kick it'. First class, yo this is bad. Drinking orange juice out of a champagne glass!
Is this what the people of Bel-Air Living like? Hmmmmm this might be alright.
