If you've hung around these parts of the internet for any length of time, you'll remember I've mentioned that growing up, the kid who lived next door to me was one of those kids who got anything he asked for... or demanded really. We were the same age and, by proxy, close friends in our early years. We were even hockey teammates until he gave up all sports when we entered high school. It was about that time we drifted into different friend groups anyway, and that was pretty much the end of that.
But before that happened, we'd spend most summer days playing together with his action figures, video games, and all sorts of other toys. I relied on his collection of toys to have the ability to brag to other kids in school about how I played with the latest and greatest. I may have left out the part where they weren't mine, though.
I wasn't stretching the truth too far, though, when I said I played with all this new stuff at home. My home. He frequently liked to come play at our house and use our "big TV" for his newest Nintendo games. While I think it was more of a case of his Mom saying, "Go play somewhere else and leave me alone for awhile," our TV was bigger than theirs back then, by maybe an inch or two. Of course, it was quite small compared to today's 90" widescreen televisions.
I would never have known about any cutting-edge fads without his ever-expanding toy chest. In the days before social media and trending topics, he somehow knew what was trendy.
In any event, on the bus ride home from school toward the end of the school year, maybe May or early June, he showed me his latest: a plastic egg that he called a virtual pet.
At first, its small screen made me think of those Tiger Electronics games that were super popular for a little bit. I wasn't far off, but he explained that it was a "virtual pet" and that he had to feed, exercise, and watch over it. I was instantly hooked! I had to have one of these things!
I have always loved simulator games in the "tycoon" genre, where you control everything from a management standpoint. Having and raising a pet that required me to take care of its every need? I had to have my own!
Japanese toy company Bandai introduced the world to the Tamagotchi "digital companion" in November 1996. Created by Aki Maita, the Tamagotchi was designed to teach children the responsibility of caring for a pet while remaining a keychain-sized technological toy. It has a simple design: a colorful egg-shaped shell with three control buttons and a small black-and-white LCD screen.
Despite its simplicity, the Tamagotchi offered a surprisingly complex experience for kids eager to have their own pet. These digital animals required constant attention, from hatching as adorable pixelated eggs to growing up into grumpy senior citizens. Kids were responsible for feeding it, cleaning up after it made a mess, playing games with it, and even putting it to sleep at night. Neglect would result in a high-maintenance pet that expressed unhappiness with noises and blurred pixels.
Unlike many expensive gaming consoles of the time, like Nintendo 64 or Sega, Tamagotchis were affordable, making them a coveted accessory for all sorts of kids. Small and portable, thanks to the carabiner-style clip, kids could easily attach Tamagotchi to their backpacks and bring their digital pet anywhere, including school. The intent of the toy was to create a sense of responsibility in the child-owner through constant companionship with their little virtual creature.
That afternoon, when I got off the school bus, I began begging Mom for one of the new Tamagotchi toys. I don't remember the exact reasoning for her "no," but I'm sure it was akin to it being just another expensive toy I wouldn't play with after a day or two.
Soon, it seemed like everyone at school had one of these toys. I remember teachers telling students that any "virtual pet" must stay home due to the disruptive nature of the noises and the constant attention it required, especially as everyone's attention was diverted enough with thoughts of summertime.
Tamagotchi toys and their knockoffs were everywhere during the summer of 1997. They would eventually fade just as quickly, though. Maybe so, but during July of 1997, it was all I could think of.
As summer began, I spent most of it trying to stay preoccupied with pro wrestling and the Prodigy Wrestling BBs (message boards). My neighbor took care of his Tamagotchi pet in front of me every time we hung out and he always made sure to ask if I had gotten one yet, too, just to rub it in.
I had braces at the time. They were the clunky metal ones cemented to my teeth, and once a month, Mom would take me across town to the orthodontist to get them tightened. During the school year, Mom would pick me up at school, and we'd rush over to the appointment. Sometimes, we'd stop for a Slurpee at 7-11 before heading home, but for in early August that year, the appointment was in the morning, and Mom had other plans.
Instead of 7-11, we stopped at some schlock store. I don't remember what it was called, and I couldn't ever name or find it again, even if I had a gun to my head. When we stopped at the store, I was bored and just wanted a Slurpee, and I'm sure I wasn't the most pleasant person to be around.
I know I can sometimes be a little ornery. I don't know why, but that's always just how I've been.
I'm working on it, ok?
That day, as a disagreeable teenager who just wanted an ice cold Slurpee with a mouth full of painful, recently tightened metal, I'm sure I was just a peach.
This shlock store, however, represented an opportunity to score some cheap toys, so I tried my best to be good as we entered the store.
I don't even remember why we stopped there or what Mom was looking for. But I'll never forget that when we got to the front counter to check out, there was a beautiful bright neon orange Tamagotchi hanging on a peg in the checkout line.
Well, ok, it wasn't a Tamagotchi. It was a knockoff called a "Micro Pet Virtual Dinosaur." For only $4.99! A real Tamagotchi cost around $15 or $20 at the time, so this was a steal! Plus, it was a pretty cute dinosaur in a bright orange egg. And I love the color orange.
I made my sales pitch, and Mom agreed that it was better to get the cheaper one if I was going to get one at all since "these things" were only a fad, and I'd quickly forget about them. I don't remember if I hugged her or not, but I was ecstatic. I should have if I hadn't.
I ran right out to the car, tearing open the packaging as soon as I sat down in the front seat. Immediately, I noticed a few differences from my neighbor's Tamagotchi, but I was so engrossed in getting my new baby dinosaur hatched and up on its feet that I don't remember the ride home.
I named my dinosaur Reptar, after the dinosaur on Nickelodeon's Rugrats, and I spent the next few weeks taking care of him. Reptar would stay in my pocket, and I'd pull out the little orange game and feed him on schedule. I'd play with him to keep him happy, or when he got sick, I'd make sure he got his medicine and a nap.
Reptar was a great companion during that summer when everyone from school was on AOL chatting, and my family still had Prodigy, so I wasn't a part of the conversation unless I made a few phone calls. It was probably one of the last few summers when I wasn't constantly connected to my friends via technology and had to entertain myself. Today, it's unfathomable that we couldn't contact anyone at any given moment, but that's how it was then.
The Tamagotchi was more than just a toy, though. It was a cultural phenomenon that captured the attention of an entire generation. I look at it as a symbol of the coming digital age, and it helped my generation of kids bridge the fast-closing gap between the analog world we were born into and the rapidly approaching one.
In 2024, rebooted attempts of updated versions of the Tamagotchi have attempted to recapture the nostalgia of the original series, but they all fell short of the original buzz during the summer of 1997.
The Tamagotchi virtual pet would eventually fade from the spotlight, as any fad does. The constant attention became a burden for many children, especially during a busy summer or when school started in the Fall. The continuous need for interaction and the lack of graphic improvements or software updates left us wanting more.
But Reptar traveled everywhere with me that summer, even our annual vacation in Maine. I quickly grew busy with swimming, boating, drawing, reading, and relaxing and forgot about him.
Reptar died from neglect. Repeatedly.
Ooops!
When we returned from Maine, I began attending to him again regularly for the week or two before school started. Then, when school began, I quickly forgot all about it.
And so had nearly every other kid who had been obsessed with their little pet just months earlier.
It turns out Mom was right. It was just a fad, after all.
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