Of the eight “Playroom Rules” my mother kept tacked up for my siblings and me in our childhood home, one in particular always stood out: “In Animal Crossing: City Folk, no one may send Jack meaningless mail.” Beyond showcasing the unique brand of sibling rivalry my brother had to endure at the hands of two older sisters (which, apparently, included maxing out his Animal Crossing™: City Folk mailbox to the point he couldn’t receive mail from his in-game neighbors), it’s a good indicator of the major role video games played in my life growing up: Every Sunday that I can remember, I raced my siblings in Mario Kart™ 64 over chocolate chip pancakes, our next-door neighbor filling the essential fourth-player role. Over holiday breaks, we spent afternoons watching my brother play Paper Mario™ or begged my dad to join in for a few rounds of GoldenEye 007 (somehow, he always won). On playdates with classmates, we’d challenge ourselves to make it through a 50-turn round of Mario Party™ before someone’s parents came to pick them up — which, surprisingly, was always more difficult than it sounds. But it wasn’t just about the games: For me, the freedom to immerse myself so completely…
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