Medal of Honor

During Dad's last few years in this world, he had a few favorite past times.

One was to watch every single episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine over and over again. He never quite memorized every line from every show, but that was not really his forte.

He sang all the time. It wasn't what he did, it was who he was. He was a singer up until the very end. Scratch that. He was a great singer up until the very end.

He loved to cook. More specifically, he loved to cook for me. Okay, I'm pretty sure living in his basement just gave him someone to cook for and look after. But I always told him I was there to look after him just as much as he looked after me. Whether he believed it or not, I don't know.

Finally, he played Nintendo. Dad owned a GameCube for a while and enjoyed playing only one game: Medal of Honor. The man would play that game for hours on end. The first time playing it through, it took him weeks to reach the end. Eventually, he got it down to a science, knowing where each foe was stationed throughout the game, anticipating each and every move they would make. The man was a pro.

After he passed away, I inherited that game and have been reluctant to part with it. Other old games that have been in my position I've either given to friends or traded in for store credit at the GameStop. But Medal of Honor is one that I just haven't been able to let go of.

It isn't because I play it. In fact, I don't believe I've ever put that disc into the Wii to fight the Nazis. I'm not very good at it anyway. The few times I ever tried to play, I was always taken down while we were still on the beach at Normandy.

No, I've held onto it because it was Dad's favorite. I'm sure that seems silly. I'm not one to be sentimental over too many things, yet I don't let go of something as trivial as a video game. At the same time, I hope you're not thinking I treat it as a shrine. It's sitting up on the bookshelf with all my other old GameCube games (that I never play). It's not next to an always burning candle and goofy picture of the old man.

So yeah, it does seem silly. But at least I know that there's a part of me that will always be sentimental about some things. Even something that small.