Humor

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I tugged hard on the cord until the triangular joystick flew out of his hands and hit me square in the face. It was not my joystick that I was tugging and stealing. Mine was plainly marked with an "L;" his marked clearly "R." My brother had explained it so perfectly to me not long after we got the new entertainment system that since his name was Randy, naturally has joystick was the one with his initial "R." And my name being Lana, my joystick could also be identified by my very own initial, the letter "L." His logic was sound and foolproof when being heard by me, by his younger sister about to be six.

My brother was five years my senior, and of course much wiser in the ways of the world, and highly knowledgeable in the intricacies of electronic equipment. Little did I realize at the time, during my tender age of innocence, that I had been duped by my very own hero.

My day of awakening came one Saturday afternoon while my dear sweet brother was away at Boy Scouts. I sat in front of the TV with my dad watching football. After the game ended, he asked me if I would like to play our new videogame system with him. I told him I guessed so, but wasn't very enthusiastic. He sensed my lack of excitement.

He turned to me and asked, "Pumpkin, why don't you like to play the new videogame Daddy bought for you?"

"I dunno," I said shyly. "It's not that fun when you can only play a few of the games."

"What do you mean?" He asked earnestly.

I looked him straight in the eyes and said, "I can't play any of the one player games."

He quizzed me for a few minutes to finally discover that my brother had tricked me into believing that I could only use my joystick, the one marked "L" to play any of the games. If my controller didn't work on a game, then I couldn't play it. Of course, at the tender age of five, I didn't realize that on one-player games, only the right joystick worked, because it was the one designated for single player. My brother had conveniently found a way to keep baby sister from playing HIS videogame.

I had that very afternoon fixed his little red wagon. Without realizing it, I had informed my father of my brother's scheme to limit my game play. And that afternoon, when my brother returned from Scouts, baby sister was playing all the fun games, the single player games, with his joystick.

As we struggled for control of the single player controller, my father appeared in the doorway.

He smiled knowingly at my brother, "The jig is up son. Leave her be. You must share YOUR controller or the game is coming with me."

I chuckled as my father left the room and eagerly stuck out my tongue at my brother to signal my obvious victory. He slugged me hard in the right arm and took the joystick.

"Okay." He said. "Dad is right. We must share and be fair. Here's our new deal. I'll play for twenty minutes and you play for twenty minutes."

"That sounds fair," I said.

"Okay, good," he replied.

"Wait!" I shouted. "But, I can't tell time!"

"No problem," he assured me. "I'll teach you."

And he did teach me. Eventually.

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