Erik Erikson's Stages of Video Games, Part One

Video games and I have a complex affair, one that can be traced back to my childhood with the very first pokemon game I ever owned: Pokemon Yellow. Yes, I had no idea what I was doing...but damn was it fun. Learning how the Game Boy worked, what all pokemon there were, how all the types worked, I was essentially a baby again in the world of Pokemon. Much in the way that a baby learns how to look at everyone and actually understand stuff, I was learning the basics of video game thinking through Pokemon Yellow.

Some psychologist named Erik Erikson once created a theory for the development of people folk. He called it, imaginatively enough, “Erik Erikson’s Stages of Development”, because clearly creativity is every psychologist’s strong suit, and because “Here’s why your life is disappointing” was much too depressing. Erikson’s stages of development, tl;dr, was a chart of the major periods in a person’s life, with a central conflict defining each period. For example as a little tiny person folk, the major conflict was “Trust vs. Mistrust”, aka deciding whether it was ok to trust the giant person out of whom you were just forcefully ejected. He decided that becoming a well-adjusted, confident person was dependant on being successful in these conflicts, so if you’re wondering who to blame for your job title as “Not mila kunis’s personal sex slave”, then blame your baby self and your baby environment for screwing everything up right from the start.

Using this model, I decided to judge judge how successful I’ve been at playing video games (wasting time) by identifying a central conflict for each stage of my video gaming self up until now. Will I end up confirming my success? No idea. Am I thinking about playing Borderlands 2 right now? You bet your ass.

Stage One: Trust v.s. Mistrust (Pokemon, ages 6-8)

When I was 6, my dad took me to Wal-mart to buy a game for the gameboy color my cousin had just given to me. As I looked through the hoards of obviously worthless games, one in particular caught my eye: Pokemon Yellow. My dad bought it, love at first playthrough, blah blah etc.

One thing I think about as I reflect on those years is how little of an idea I had about what I was doing. Pokemon? I had no idea what they really were, just that I was supposed to make the little bar go down on the other pokemon and I won, that’s all I needed to know. I thought moves like tail whip did damage, only to find out they didn’t and therefore had no purpose in my mind. However as all the games teach us, as all the anime episodes dictated, as literally all the movies hit us over the head with over and over and over again, you have to trust your pokemon man or you’re an objectively horrible person! Did I trust my pokemon? I trusted them about as much as a 6-7 year old could trust pixels, which is about as much as Ash trusts Team Rocket to successfully capture pikachu: None. I just knew they kept dying over and over again because fucking Sabrina and her bitch ass. Who are you to kill my objectively bitchin’ Nidoking over and over again? Huh?! Type advantage what?! Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of throwing my gameboy across the room. 

"ROOOOAAAAHHHHGGGJDAIGOIAE."- Every Nidoking ever

 

So we’re off to a great start.

Stage Two: Shame and Doubt (Pokemon with friends, ages 8-11)

When I was 8 we moved to my current residence of Frisco, Texas and I started going to a nice elementary school, which meant that I had to at least make an effort to make new friends. This was made ironically easier because of my love of pokemon, because even though pokemon was considered very uncool around that time, the few (3) of us who did stuck together like a group of war veterans who have seen some shit.

However, this didn’t mean that we always got along. Many, many an argument was had over which pokemon was objectively the coolest looking, or who could absolutely kill all the other pokemon if given the chance, or which pokemon would be the coolest to have as a pet dude! For me that answer was always Umbreon or Houndour, both of which according to my friends, “suck dude you’re stupid they’re so gay”, because back then insults didn’t need a compelling argument or creativity to be effective. This caused me to doubt my liking for these pokemon, because even though Brian picked his nose and creeped the other kids out, he had a shiny pokemon. Case closed, failure of stage two confirmed. Let’s move on before the tub of ice cream starts looking more attractive than it does.

You use a rattata?! Get lost, nerd.

Stage Three: Initiative v.s. Guilt (N64, 8-10 years)

In the middle of that entire “People don’t like the same pokemon I do” phase, I was also experiencing a different kind of beast: The Nintendo 64. Gotten for me upon moving to Texas to help me adjust somehow, I soon became enamored with the wonderful game known as Super Smash Brothers. Ahhhhhhhhhhh that name gives good feelings.

It was at that moment that I became unconsciously training myself to be a Super Smash Bros assassin of the highest quality. I would fight whoever I could find, whoever was willing to test their skills with a controller against me, and in the end I always came out on top. After about a year of playing this cocaine-influenced game, I played my best friend for the last time.

A match of legendary proportions was under way, and it was too late to stop. The location was decided, the characters picked, the map chosen, and the terms set: the winner won the title of undisputed Super Smash Bros champion of the neighborhood. My opponent chose pikachu; a considerable enemy indeed, but a definite bitch when compared to the utter might of Mario, my italian buddy throughout my entire Super Smash Bros career, as proven by the 20 minute absolute apocalypse that ensued. Pikachu proved to be no match for the pride of Italy! Mario, the epitome of all that is manly and testosterone-filled, slapped Pikachu’s japanese ass across the Mushroom Kingdom for 20 minutes, and it was awesome. 

Say my name.

Despite my display of dominance among the adolescent gaming community in a small neighborhood in Frisco, I felt bad because I was incapable of taking pride in much, and so I felt bad for beating my best friend so badly. Even though I was the king of Super Smash Bros, I had to smash my friend out of existence to do so, which for some reason felt really bad to me as a kid despite having absolutely no future implications whatsoever. Unless there’s a job titled “Professional Super Smash Bros Dictator Emperor” that is.

So yeah, I failed this one too. The next part of this post will come eventually, in which I continue to explore my video game past and make rash commentary and assumptions! In the meantime, Borderlands 2 guys.