One man’s junk is another man’s cherished childhood memories

At what point do collectibles and mementos turn into useless junk taking up space? This is the question I’ve been asking myself the past couple days. I’m cleaning out my closet because I feel like I have too much useless junk. Some choices are easy (old hard drives, clothes from the 90s, locks of hair from old girlfriends). But for others…it’s hard to pull the trigger.

The two items that are causing me the most agony are my Super Nintendo and my Game Boy. I last used my SNES before I was married (hooked it up in my bachelor pad one night because I wanted to play “Mario 3”). As for the Game Boy…last time I used that might have been in the previous millennium–literally. Given that I hardly use these items (at best), it’s fairly obvious their absence wouldn’t be noticed (other than the open space in my closet). And yet…

I can’t seem to do it. Seems to me I’d be better off selling them on eBay or giving ’em to Goodwill than keeping them here and never using them. I should let my video game systems find good homes with someone who will love them and play with they (if I learned one thing from “Toy Story 3” it’s this: abandoned toys have feelings too). But it’s just not that easy. The idea of parting with these childhood toys causes me much anguish.

“Just keep them,” The Wife lobbied. “They don’t take up much space.” She’s right: the two systems and their games can be neatly stored in a box that takes up two square feet.

Unfortunately, I know they’re there. I feel like I have too much stuff. I have many possessions that I don’t need and never will use–and the video game systems fall under this category. If I wanted to play “Mario 3” today, I could do so on my cell phone, computer, or hacked PSP. Heck, I’m trying to get an emulator installed on my website so I can play games online. I don’t NEED my Game Boy to play Tetris because I have the game everywhere (yes, the official Game Boy version). Even if I wanted to play on a big, television screen I have an emulator installed on the computer that’s hooked up to my flat panel TV. I can get the Nintendo experience anywhere.

So why can’t I let go? Why I am clinging on to something I clearly don’t need nor will ever use?

Best as I can tell–in the opinion of this untrained psychologist–I’m holding on to these systems because they are a link to my youth. Or maybe because they represent my youth. Something like that. I spent countless hours playing video games when I was a kid. It’s remarkable how I managed to squeeze in as much video game time as I did (I think I sandwiched it between youth sports and causing mischief). I spent summers with my brothers trying to beat “Mario 3” (we spent hours stocking up on P-Wings and free men). I played Tecmo Bowl like it was a religion. I wasted years adding the likeness of MLB players to Baseball Superstars. I have tremendously found memories of playing Punch-Out over at a friend’s house. I remember playing countless hours on my Game Boy with its tiny, monochromatic green screen. It might have been a portable gaming system, but I used it at home, in my room, and plugged in. I realize this might sound like I was obsessed with video games, but rest assured I was not. They just were a big part of my life growing up when I didn’t have other responsibilities (like a widely-ignored blog, needy cat, or needy wife). Video games not only gave my joy, they were what I did–who I was.

So even though I’ll never use my Game Boy ever again, I can’t bring myself to part with it because it’s my connection to a happier time. A time free of responsibilities. A time when it didn’t hurt to wake up in the morning. We always reflect fondly upon our youth. I wish I could be 13 again. I would spend my days drawing pictures, watching sports, and playing video games. Those times are gone and–it’s tough to accept but…–they’re never coming back. Holding on the magical SNES won’t make me a teenager again, and throwing away a Game Boy doesn’t mean I’m throwing away my youth.

Just because I give up my games doesn’t mean I have to give up my memories. I can take those with me forever (at least until I die). It’s okay to let go if I want to clear out space. No harm, no foul. After all, I parted with my original NES a long time ago and don’t miss it. It’s time for me to let my toys find good homes.