This Arcade Game Took Me Back in Time
Who knew seeing the Claw Game would bring back so many memories?
“I want to play this one!”
I was with my family at a new arcade in London — and discovering how quickly a 9-year-old and 7-year-old can burn through £20 of video game credit.
I looked around the arcade, noticing how much fancier the games were compared to the Frogger and Pole Position of my youth.
Just seeing this image makes me hear “Prepare to Qualify”
But not everything has changed.
As I looked over to the game my kids were wanting to play, I shook my head and laughed.
“The Claw Game?” I asked with skepticism.
Ever play the Claw Game?
It dazzles you with lights and stuffed animals, and fools you into thinking it’s an easy game to win.
After you put your money in, you maneuver a metal claw back and forth, then left and right, over a sea of stuffed toys.
Then when you’re sure you’ve positioned the claw just right, you hit a button that sends it down, where it opens and then closes, attempting to pick up a stuffed toy.
The claw will often scratch at the arm of a toy, but never grip it enough.
And unlike other games that may entertain you for a minute or two as you drive around obstacles or help a frog hop on a floating log, the Claw Game is over in seconds.
It takes your money and leaves you with nothing but frustration.
Or at least that’s my experience.
“The only person who can win that game is John Cummings!” I told my kids.
“Who’s John Cummings?” they asked with puzzled looks on their faces.
I hadn’t thought about John in years, but I smiled as I thought about all the memories I have of him.
“John Cummings is the big brother I always wanted,” I told them.
Wish I had a picture of John and me to include, but it was the 90s…
If I had to describe John in a word, the word would be fun.
At age 16, he was still a big kid, full of energy and playfulness – and exactly who you’d want as an older brother.
I met John when I was 12 years old, when he started dating my older sister.
Though my sister and I were close, by the time she got to high school, she did not want me around.
But John would include me.
He’d let me come along with them to Dari-Licious, our town’s popular ice cream shop, where my sister had a part-time job.
Sometimes John would even stop by our house and offer to take me out for ice cream while my sister was working.
We’d drive around town in his maroon pick-up, singing along to Young MC’s Bust a Move while we drank our slushes.
John treated me like a little sister, and would always acknowledge me if he saw me at a high school basketball game or the movies with my friends.
And as a 12-year-old, that was a big deal to get attention from someone in high school (especially someone as well-known as John).
I got all the perks of a big brother without the drawbacks. I don’t remember ever fighting with John, though I can vividly remember the day he threw me over his shoulder and bodyslammed me.
But I take the blame for that one. I told him he couldn’t do it, and he proved me wrong.
This is the (renovated) high school gym where I spent many Friday and Saturday nights. The area under that scoreboard was the (unofficial) section for middle school kids.
And when I was 13, John and my sister even took me to see New Kids on the Block in concert. (I know, I know, but NKOTB was a hot ticket at that time!).
I still remember how exciting it felt going to a concert with teenagers rather than someone else’s parents.
I don’t think John was that into the music, so the gesture feels even kinder looking back on it now.
But when I was 14, John moved away to go to college – and he and my sister broke up not long after.
This was long before email and text messages, so their break-up also ended my contact with John.
I saw him occasionally over the next few years, but then I moved away to college, and haven’t seen him since.
But all those memories of John, the best big brother a kid could want, came back when I saw that Claw Game.
And I realized that he probably has no idea what an effect he had on me when I was growing up. How much I looked up to him, and how much I appreciated the kindness he showed me.
John may not have taught me how to win the Claw Game, but the memories he gave me are a lot more valuable.
So I wrote him a letter and told him.
And thanked him.
I think that most of us have a John Cummings in our lives. Maybe not a fun older brother type, but someone we’ve not seen in years, but whose kindness or encouragement still lives with us.
Today’s a good day to write that person a letter.
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Beth Collier loves writing, pop culture, and going to the Dari-Licious for a DVK (you had to work there to know what that’s code for).
She also loves helping companies, leaders, and teams improve their communication (and creativity and leadership) through consulting, coaching, and workshops.
Her clients benefit from Beth’s global corporate experience, Midwestern practicality and enthusiasm, and an endless supply of pop culture references.
To find out how Beth can help you become a more confident, creative, and compelling leader – or improve communication in your company – visit www.beth-collier.com or drop her a line at beth@beth-collier.com
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