Remembering my gaming Grandma, who shaped my love of video games.
My grandmother recently passed away at the age of 95. She was a constant in my life. She was witty, wise, and inspirationally irreverent. She was an evacuee during the Second World War, a mother to seven, and a grandmother to—well, I’ve actually lost count of how many cousins I have. And beyond all that, in her own quiet way, she was also something of a gamer.
Her love of play and puzzles was probably not uncommon for her generation, but I think her enthusiasm for video games and electronic entertainment in my youth—back in the 1980s—was rare.
It began in 1982, when she bought me a ZX Spectrum 48K for Christmas. Not just the computer, but also a boxed collection of games that included the classics Horace Goes Skiing, Pssst, Cookie, and Jet Pac. It was a gift that changed my life. That humble Spectrum (or Speccy) sparked a lifelong love of gaming, and it all came from her.
During the ’80s, Gran’s house was like a mini arcade. Tucked away on shelves and in drawers were treasures like the Shark Attack Tomytronic handheld and Grandslam’s Firefox F7 electronic tabletop game. The biggest draw, however, was Nintendo’s Donkey Kong and Mario Bros. Game & Watch units. These weren’t just toys for us grandkids; they were part of the furniture. Gran would spend hours trying to beat her own high scores, which she dated and logged in a notepad used as a family leaderboard.
Kiss the Duck
In the early ’90s, while I still clung to the humble Spectrum, she bought a Nintendo Entertainment System. I remember our first game of Super Mario Bros. vividly. As Mario leapt toward World 1-1’s lone Koopa Troopa, she shouted, “Kiss the duck!”—utterly convinced that (a) it was a duck and (b) this was the correct course of action. It only happened once. After that, she got the hang of it, and all Koopas were in her sights. The amusing memory of Gran blasting away at actual ducks with the NES Zapper will also never leave me.
Her gaming didn’t stop there. She later became enamoured with SimCity and Cannon Fodder on the SNES, and—together with my honorary grandpa Joe—developed a surprising affection for the Sony-published Equinox. They played it for hours, methodically tackling every room again and again and again and again. She never tired of repeating levels. She wanted to master every game she played.
Even in her later years, when her ability to play console games with precise controls faded, she moved onto tablets and built up a library of match-three puzzlers. Her curiosity never waned, and her mind was as sharp as ever, even as her reactions began to slow.
And now she’s gone. It sucks. I’m utterly sad, but also grateful. An appreciation for video games isn’t the most important thing she gave me, but her embrace of play, of curiosity, of sticking with something—that will stay with me. She didn’t just give me my first computer; she gave me permission to have fun, to imagine, and to never stop trying. I’ll miss her.
Power down.
