Yesterday, my beloved Switch died a death. Dropped from a great height by my eight-year-old son. Even now, the noise is still resounding in my ears. That sickening crunch, as the first-ever console from launch that I have owned, bit the dust. It was a sad, dark day.
Two-hundred hours of Breath of the Wild gone. Forty hours of Mario Odyssey killed off in one drop. Street Fighter II, Arms, Kingdom Battles, Captain Toad Treasure Tracker, all those hours of my life put into those games, all those hours of commitment and fun living in these other worlds, all bit the dust in that one second where the console slipped from his hands and hit the floor.
There were tears. And not just from me. My heart swelled with pride as my son offered to tap into his own savings to pay for a replacement. I was proud of the emotional awareness he had displayed. Of course, I turned down the money, the sweet gesture usurped by my pride of raising him right. Even when he told me it would have to be in pennies and pound coins, I couldn’t help but laugh to myself. In one hand was the broken Switch, in the other was his savings, offering to try and make amends for an accident.
I say accident. He was distracted by Link adventuring through Hyrule. He didn’t see the step in front of him, and instead of his face hitting the floor, the Switch did — a fair trade in my opinion.
Even though the Switch was down, it wasn’t out for the count. It’s portability was gone, the screen was dead, but when we returned home the console was still functional docked. In every cloud a silver lining. My son’s face lit up when he saw that the console was still working. It was like a loved one returning from the dead. I handed over the console immediately. Passing on a gaming torch from father to son.
And then later on, I sat and pondered on my lost friend. For some time I was thinking of passing the console over to him, and the accident was the nudge I needed to do this. The damage was repairable, it’s a toy after all, it’s designed to be dropped. My son had marked the console as his own and over it went to him.
A replacement must be sought …
Now I’ve told you the story of my loss. I’m going to tell the story of why I so eagerly bought a second Switch — one word: Zelda.
The idea that I could redo the entire adventure all over again filled me with excitement. Would it be able to recreate that initial feeling of awe when I first awoke in Hyrule and set off on a quest to free Princess Zelda from the dark grip of Calamity Ganon? I don’t think it could ever truly remake the excitement I felt, but it’s worth it just for the endorphin hit at going back there with no save file and a chance to do things differently.
Sure, my past hours are gone now.
But it’s time for a rebirth to take place.