My introduction to both video games and computers came from a rather unusual source for a child raised in the 1990s. Other kids my age were inheriting 8-bit consoles or picking up the Super Nintendo or Sega Mega Drive/Genesis, or they were experiencing the torture of MS-DOS. As for me, I had a Mac. Not a shiny new Mac, mind you, but an aging Macintosh Plus, with a monochrome 9-inch monitor, no hard drive, and 800 KB floppy drive. Most of the time, I had to first use the boot disk to start the system, then switch to the game disk, although a few games were bootable. Freezes, which were not uncommon, were typically resolved with a resounding whack to either the side or top of the computer. Sometimes, though, a hard-reset was required. And that often resulted in a “sad Mac” on startup.

I have fond memories of games that most people -- even those who live and breathe gaming culture -- have never heard of, and likely never will. Glider moved me with its whimsical world where the paper plane was king. StuntCopter entertained me with a falling stick-figure and a horse that could be knocked over. Spelunx taught me about gravity, lightning, and the power of learning through play. ShufflePuck Café consumed me as I tried to beat all its weird characters. Dark Castle offered an atmospheric action/puzzle/platformer hybrid that was years ahead of its time. Banzai, Super Maze Wars, Artillery, MacSki, Memory, Amazing, Block Out, Maelstrom, and many other unique little games exposed me to all sorts of ideas, filling my childhood with hours of fun and entertainment.

This is the first part in the story of my childhood, as it relates to Apple and the Macintosh computer.

There were times when I hated the Mac. My reasons varied from anger that it didn’t get more games to frustration that an old computer didn’t run as well as I wanted. I only had limited time to spend with the computer; if I had to spend some of that time troubleshooting, I would get mad. I’ll admit that I hit that Mac Plus too hard on more than a few occasions.

Yet no matter how angry or frustrated I would get with the Plus, or any Mac I’ve had since then, I never stopped loving it. In those early days especially, the Macintosh was distinguished from most other computers on the market by its likability. It felt good using a Mac. Far from being a trial of confusing menus or a text-only command-line interface, the Macintosh operating system and hardware was intuitive -- it made sense at a time when computers were still inaccessible to most people. There was such coherency and consistency to its design, user interface, and appearance that you could not find elsewhere. It sure beat its chief competitor -- a shameless pretender that was often an exercise in frustration and added an unnecessary layer to its popular-yet-underpowered (and outdated) MS-DOS core (hint: it starts with W).

The Early Days

Thinking back to the early days of my life with computers, certain things stand out. Most of them are games, but not all. I remember being spellbound by this mysterious platinum box with a colourful Apple logo on the front. No computer will ever capture my imagination like the Mac Plus did back then, with its inviting design and happy demeanour. My dad used a database application called FileMaker (which still exists). I had no idea what it did (or how). But I sure was impressed that all the stuff he put in was turned into something with numbers and columns that looked useful. We had a piece of educational software called Kid’s Time, which enabled me to create music and draw on the screen, amongst other things. It was so easy to use; so much fun that I could spend hours messing around with its features.

There was a game called At the Carnival, which amounted to little more than a series of puzzles that were set in a *gasp* carnival. I had a love for language and problem solving even at this early age, so I was absorbed by At the Carnival. It crashed the computer more times than I could count, and its graphics made my vision go funny when I played for extended periods. But I kept coming back, even when I had other favourites like Dark Castle, Space Quest II, and Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego? close at hand. One puzzle in particular stands out in my memory. It required you to guide a small child through a crowd of people. Some clusters would push you away; others would help you onwards. It captured the feeling of isolation, anxiety, and fear that goes through a child’s mind when they are lost in a busy public place. As a child vulnerable to bouts of panic or anxiety, working through this puzzle was like therapy.

Dark Castle introduced me to the world of platformers. It put you in the role of Prince Duncan, who must navigate his way through the castle of the Black Knight in order to find and defeat him. To say it was hard would be an understatement, but the three difficulty levels at least made it possible for non-masochists to complete the game. What made Dark Castle so impressive was its atmosphere. It had foreboding environments -- limp prisoners chained to walls, huge structures, imposing caves -- and an immersive sound design, complete with groans, screams, squeaks, and cracks of the whip that tore through the air around your speakers. And it did all of this in black and white.

For a brief period, the Mac Plus was put in my bedroom. I would not regain the privilege of my own computer until I bought an iMac in 2008, around 15 years later. I can’t remember why or when exactly it was taken away, but I suspect it was to give to my grandfather, who I recall used it from around that time. Regardless, my most vivid memories of the Plus, and some of my best computer-related experiences, can be traced back to that time when I had my first Mac.