Every Saturday morning the battle royal began, “Hey! NO, no, no, it was me! I got here first…come on.” I may have only been seven but I knew the first one to the magical black box got to be the one to emit its magical powers. Now, being the second eldest, I felt entitlement to this role. This box wasn’t your ordinary magical black box. It was made of plastic so it was hard, but yet it wasn’t hard at all. Its curves rounded the top and sides gave it a gentle appearance, as if waves were doing everything in their power to crash upon the shore without a splash. My love for this box surpassed my love for anything, even for my stuffed baby doll Pinky. But this box didn’t just start becoming magical on its own; it needed the help from a very talented creature like myself. In order for this machine to work, besides sliding the power button on, you had to blow air into the cartridge, choose a game cartridge, then blow some more air into both of them nearly fifty times before these two objects could make magic non-comparable to David Blaine. It wasn’t just the box that interested me; it was the graphics that were magically emitted from this box onto my television screen. How was it that I was able to become a character and then control him from my corner of the rug? Well, obviously it’s because the black box was magical, right? Well no, not exactly. I may have thought that when I was seven, but I came to understand that it was because there was a mixture of technology and design non-comparable to anything on the market. The creators of Nintendo 64 were geniuses in my mind because everything about this machine was visually appealing. Not to mention that for the time being, it was compact. But, best of all, it was addicting. Everyone wanted one, and the more games you had the more envious your friends were. Every weekend that’s where you could find the four Pulciano kids all under age 10, glued to the Nintendo 64.
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