Early Signs of Addiction

The first time I used the internet I was like eight. Or something. I know that I had to be old enough to read and write because I typed into the old internet explorer URL box “http:www.cartoonnetwork.com/”. I remember that sometimes the site wouldn't show up and I had to ask my dad to help me navigate the mysterious “search engine” known as “Adelphia web search”. My Dad was actually extremely proud of his computer. He made it himself out of spare parts he got at work and it was incredibly fast on the internet. Fortunately for me this was after the invention of “cable internet” so I never had to deal with that strange "noise-making box" known as dial up.

The most exciting part about cartoonnetwork.com was the games. I started out with simple paint games. After I mastered that I was introduced to shooters. Looking back, this should have been an early warning sign of a troubling addiction. For even at such a young age I would throw a tantrum and throw myself into a spiral of depression if I could not beat a certain game. As I log hours into the Sims I remember these early days of internet gaming.

My favorite game was a shooter about Batman. You were Batman and you were trying to save Robin from The Joker. It was some pretty serious stakes there – so I set out trying to K.O. (because Batman never kills) criminals and save my sidekick. 2D Batman would climb around on the roofs of buildings and shoot a 2D Bat-er-rang at a 2d henchman. Looking back it really shouldn't have been that hard. But it was. They didn't even have guns they just kicked you!

What I remember the most about it was the temper-tantrum that I threw when I kept losing. The game was actually marked in the advanced 11-13 year old section of the games. No matter how hard I tried I just didn't have the hand-eye co-ordination to win. The image of The Joker escaping with Robin tied up in the backseat of the getaway helicopter kept flickering on the screen and some taunting message played on the bottom. (The new Batman does this too). Nothing was more traumatizing to a child than having a villain insult them and run off with a kidnapped child. This was something I could not allow to happen.


So I threw a temper-tantrum, cried and kicked a chair. I demanded that my Dad help me save Robin. Although it did take some convincing and I had to milk the, “what if someone kidnapped me, Daddy? Wouldn't you try to save me?” line I was able to convince my Dad to help me.

This leads me to my most fondest memory of the internet. Me and my Dad staying up until 11 on a school night playing a “hit-the-spacebar” shooter. We never did save Robin.