Why Tetris Will Always Be Special To Me

Back when video games came in cartridges you had to blow on to make work, and the only screen you had was the one your mama told you not to sit too close to, there was a game that didn’t need explosions, dragons, or a storyline involving saving a princess. It had falling blocks. That’s it. And yet somehow, it was perfect. That game was Tetris.

I first laid eyes on it in a Rose’s department store, back when a trip to town meant you wore your good sneakers and hoped Mama didn’t make you try on pants. They had a Game Boy demo set up in the electronics section, and while the Game Boy itself looked like something out of Star Trek, it was the game on the screen that grabbed me. Blocks falling from the sky, needing to be twisted and turned just right to make a line disappear. It was like playing with puzzle pieces while someone shouted “Hurry up!” in Russian.

Every Saturday, I’d make a beeline to that demo station while Mom shopped for things I didn’t care about, like curtains and sensible shoes. I’d stand there, hunched over the display, trying to beat my own imaginary score while the store manager gave me the stink eye. I didn’t care. I was hooked. I didn’t have enough allowance saved for a Game Boy, but I found out Tetris was available for the NES, and by God, I had just enough to buy it. That was the day I became a full-time block stacker.

But here’s the thing that made Tetris more than just a game. One night, my dad, who’d never touched a video game in his life and thought Pong was the devil’s work, walked into my room and asked what I was doing. I told him about the blocks, the lines, the strategy. He nodded, sat down on the bed, and asked if he could try. I would’ve believed the Tooth Fairy was real before I believed my daddy would play a video game. But he did. And he was good at it.

For weeks after that, he’d come into my room at night and we’d play together, taking turns, trying to beat each other’s score. It wasn’t about winning. It was about sitting side by side, laughing when the blocks piled up too fast, and cheering when one of us cleared four lines at once. Tetris gave me something no other game ever did…it gave me time with my dad. Real time. The kind you don’t get back, and the kind you never forget.

So yeah, Tetris is special. Not because it’s famous or because it sold a million copies. It’s special because it turned a quiet evening into a memory. Because sometimes, the best games aren’t the ones with the best graphics, they’re the ones that bring people together. Even if it’s just to stack blocks and share a laugh.