Note: I've slightly altered some specific details about my life or kept things vague here and there to protect my privacy, but this story is otherwise true.
My dad died when I was about 6 years old. That time, earlier, and soon after is mostly a blur to be honest. We moved, family drama happened, and I was just sort of observing the chaos, not understanding why everyone was upset. I had a roof over my head and food in my belly, but I wouldn't have called my life stable. I dealt with helicopter parenting that was inconsistent with it’s own rules, family drama, multiple moves, a disrespect for my agency and confidence, and a general feeling that the mischief and independence teenagers had on TV was just something I wasn’t going to experience, if that was even reality. There was one thing I could always count on: ol’ Deckard.
Shortly after my dad passed, my family brought home a PS2: An SCPH-75001 “Deckard", not that I knew any of that. Up until that point, I only had a Nintendo 64 with a few games and a controller I could barely hold. I always wanted a new console, but never expected to get one, yet here was this sleek, black box. This machine was already outdated by the time I saw it, as the 7th generation had been underway for a few years, but to me it seemed strange and futuristic. The first game I had for it was Madagascar, not exactly the best first impression but it kept me occupied. It didn’t take us long to collect more games that the masses who moved on didn’t want anymore. In my chaotic, yet sheltered existence, every new game felt like an exciting adventure. The tension and curiosity of Resident Evil 4, the nonstop excitement and action movie antics of Devil May Cry 3, the seemingly endless open world of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, the adrenaline charged speed of the Fast and the Furious (The Tokyo Drift tie in one) and ATV: Offroad Fury 3. At the time, I was home schooled, lived out in the country, and didn’t always have internet access, so my exposure to various subcultures and attitudes was limited, but ol’ Deckard was a portal to places far, far away. Far away from my boring neck of the woods and far away from pain.
Sometime around 12 years old, I had transfered to public school and became aware of just how poor and sheltered I was. I was bullied for my lack of cultural awareness, my mannerisms, but mostly my economic status. It wasn’t all bad, as I was able to make friends who were simply happy to meet another person who liked what they like. I couldn’t join them in their Xbox Live parties, but we could at least share our gaming experiences and play games together on the school computers. Most of them grew up with PS2‘s as well and appreciated the joy it offered, and would have been more than happy to invite me to play Call of Duty if and when I finally upgraded. I felt what it was like to be truly respected as someone with opinions that mattered. Someone with agency.
Some time in high school, I was gifted another console upgrade: an Xbox 360. PS2 games were getting harder to find in my small town, and the lack of consistent internet and the ever present helicopter parents meant that online shopping was out of the question. But Gamestop was overflowing with used Xbox 360 games, as everyone had already moved on to the 8th console generation. Yet again I found solace in new adventures that my classmates had already experienced years prior: the seemingly infinite frozen mountains of Skyrim, the alien worlds of Halo 3, the endless possibilities of Minecraft. I remember my first time playing Resident Evil 6 and being absolutely blown away by what this machine was capable of. It felt so real, and at the time I was barely aware of the less than ideal frame rate and didn’t mind that it was more of an action game than previous titles. I was happy to have what I had. For years, my Xbox 360 was the center of my little entertainment center, when my family would stay off of my ass long enough to let me enjoy it anyway.
But ol’ Deckard, he didn’t mind. He waited patiently in a space under my TV. Dusty and scuffed, with some of the old discs looking like they came back from Iraq, despite my best efforts to always handle them properly, but still functional and none the worse for wear. Memory cards cataloging years of adventure, stored on their old flash chips as if those ones and zeros were carved into stone. Every now and again, I would fire up ol' Deckard and play some Tony Hawk’s Underground, and feel that old childlike joy again, then realize that I’m not as good at this as I was when I was 12. I tried to finally beat Resident Evil 4, but I kept getting stuck on the same spot due to a scratched disk. Oh well. What can you do?
Deckard and his bigger, curvier companion followed me through more turmoil and moves until, around 19 years old, whatever family I had with some sense left came with me as we moved out of my emotionally abusive household and into a shared apartment, where we still live as roommates splitting the bills to this day. I still feel the scars of my old life, my bravado and sense of humor masking years of emotional wounds and insecurity, but it’s not all bad. I have friends, a decent job where I’m respected, and I finally have a gaming PC that teenage me would stare at in envy. I even found a forum I really like centered around retro gaming, away from the absolute cesspit that is modern social media, like I need any more of that after what I’ve dealt with.
A few months ago, I learned about some really cool mods that you can do to a PS2. A whole community of people who continued to support their favorite black box, long after Sony left it behind, so I decided to dig Deckard out once again. He’s definitely seen better days: the glossy strip on top is chipped off, the controller cable is coming apart, it’s interior wires insulted by electrical tape. The memory cards work, but Deckard won’t read them unless you pull them out just a little bit after you put them in. The laser still reads disks, but the loading times are horrible. I opened it up and had to clean out a dead roach. But he’s still hanging in there, playing Tony Hawk and Grand Theft Auto just like the old days. I figured it was about time for Deckard to get a makeover.
I used FreeDVDBoot to mod a memory card into a FreeMCBoot card, jailbreaking the system. Then, I loaded some games on a usb, ran my new component cables from Deckard to a big ass CRT some rich people threw out, and ran the audio cables to my Edifier speakers. Deckard had everything he needed now. There was nothing left to hold him back. So I booted Devil May Cry 3....
I was in awe! Every color was more vibrant, and every detail was sharper. It almost looked like upscaled emulation! The audio was on another level entirely. Pure uncut hard rock thundered from my speakers, not a trace of tinniness or compression to be heard. Every vocal performance clear as crystal, and every weapon strike and spell cast an earthquake. This was Deckard’s proud declaration to the world, that he was still meaningful. That even after all the wear and tear, and the unrelenting passage of time, he was just as beautiful as ever! Deckard and I both made it out better people, our scars marks of wisdom, and our defiance rewarded with freedom. My mental health may be difficult to manage at times and the economy may be a little rough, but my best years aren’t behind me.
I’m just getting started!
My dad died when I was about 6 years old. That time, earlier, and soon after is mostly a blur to be honest. We moved, family drama happened, and I was just sort of observing the chaos, not understanding why everyone was upset. I had a roof over my head and food in my belly, but I wouldn't have called my life stable. I dealt with helicopter parenting that was inconsistent with it’s own rules, family drama, multiple moves, a disrespect for my agency and confidence, and a general feeling that the mischief and independence teenagers had on TV was just something I wasn’t going to experience, if that was even reality. There was one thing I could always count on: ol’ Deckard.
Shortly after my dad passed, my family brought home a PS2: An SCPH-75001 “Deckard", not that I knew any of that. Up until that point, I only had a Nintendo 64 with a few games and a controller I could barely hold. I always wanted a new console, but never expected to get one, yet here was this sleek, black box. This machine was already outdated by the time I saw it, as the 7th generation had been underway for a few years, but to me it seemed strange and futuristic. The first game I had for it was Madagascar, not exactly the best first impression but it kept me occupied. It didn’t take us long to collect more games that the masses who moved on didn’t want anymore. In my chaotic, yet sheltered existence, every new game felt like an exciting adventure. The tension and curiosity of Resident Evil 4, the nonstop excitement and action movie antics of Devil May Cry 3, the seemingly endless open world of Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas, the adrenaline charged speed of the Fast and the Furious (The Tokyo Drift tie in one) and ATV: Offroad Fury 3. At the time, I was home schooled, lived out in the country, and didn’t always have internet access, so my exposure to various subcultures and attitudes was limited, but ol’ Deckard was a portal to places far, far away. Far away from my boring neck of the woods and far away from pain.
Sometime around 12 years old, I had transfered to public school and became aware of just how poor and sheltered I was. I was bullied for my lack of cultural awareness, my mannerisms, but mostly my economic status. It wasn’t all bad, as I was able to make friends who were simply happy to meet another person who liked what they like. I couldn’t join them in their Xbox Live parties, but we could at least share our gaming experiences and play games together on the school computers. Most of them grew up with PS2‘s as well and appreciated the joy it offered, and would have been more than happy to invite me to play Call of Duty if and when I finally upgraded. I felt what it was like to be truly respected as someone with opinions that mattered. Someone with agency.
Some time in high school, I was gifted another console upgrade: an Xbox 360. PS2 games were getting harder to find in my small town, and the lack of consistent internet and the ever present helicopter parents meant that online shopping was out of the question. But Gamestop was overflowing with used Xbox 360 games, as everyone had already moved on to the 8th console generation. Yet again I found solace in new adventures that my classmates had already experienced years prior: the seemingly infinite frozen mountains of Skyrim, the alien worlds of Halo 3, the endless possibilities of Minecraft. I remember my first time playing Resident Evil 6 and being absolutely blown away by what this machine was capable of. It felt so real, and at the time I was barely aware of the less than ideal frame rate and didn’t mind that it was more of an action game than previous titles. I was happy to have what I had. For years, my Xbox 360 was the center of my little entertainment center, when my family would stay off of my ass long enough to let me enjoy it anyway.
But ol’ Deckard, he didn’t mind. He waited patiently in a space under my TV. Dusty and scuffed, with some of the old discs looking like they came back from Iraq, despite my best efforts to always handle them properly, but still functional and none the worse for wear. Memory cards cataloging years of adventure, stored on their old flash chips as if those ones and zeros were carved into stone. Every now and again, I would fire up ol' Deckard and play some Tony Hawk’s Underground, and feel that old childlike joy again, then realize that I’m not as good at this as I was when I was 12. I tried to finally beat Resident Evil 4, but I kept getting stuck on the same spot due to a scratched disk. Oh well. What can you do?
Deckard and his bigger, curvier companion followed me through more turmoil and moves until, around 19 years old, whatever family I had with some sense left came with me as we moved out of my emotionally abusive household and into a shared apartment, where we still live as roommates splitting the bills to this day. I still feel the scars of my old life, my bravado and sense of humor masking years of emotional wounds and insecurity, but it’s not all bad. I have friends, a decent job where I’m respected, and I finally have a gaming PC that teenage me would stare at in envy. I even found a forum I really like centered around retro gaming, away from the absolute cesspit that is modern social media, like I need any more of that after what I’ve dealt with.
A few months ago, I learned about some really cool mods that you can do to a PS2. A whole community of people who continued to support their favorite black box, long after Sony left it behind, so I decided to dig Deckard out once again. He’s definitely seen better days: the glossy strip on top is chipped off, the controller cable is coming apart, it’s interior wires insulted by electrical tape. The memory cards work, but Deckard won’t read them unless you pull them out just a little bit after you put them in. The laser still reads disks, but the loading times are horrible. I opened it up and had to clean out a dead roach. But he’s still hanging in there, playing Tony Hawk and Grand Theft Auto just like the old days. I figured it was about time for Deckard to get a makeover.
I used FreeDVDBoot to mod a memory card into a FreeMCBoot card, jailbreaking the system. Then, I loaded some games on a usb, ran my new component cables from Deckard to a big ass CRT some rich people threw out, and ran the audio cables to my Edifier speakers. Deckard had everything he needed now. There was nothing left to hold him back. So I booted Devil May Cry 3....
I was in awe! Every color was more vibrant, and every detail was sharper. It almost looked like upscaled emulation! The audio was on another level entirely. Pure uncut hard rock thundered from my speakers, not a trace of tinniness or compression to be heard. Every vocal performance clear as crystal, and every weapon strike and spell cast an earthquake. This was Deckard’s proud declaration to the world, that he was still meaningful. That even after all the wear and tear, and the unrelenting passage of time, he was just as beautiful as ever! Deckard and I both made it out better people, our scars marks of wisdom, and our defiance rewarded with freedom. My mental health may be difficult to manage at times and the economy may be a little rough, but my best years aren’t behind me.
I’m just getting started!
