For Christmas, I was given the gift of renewed rage. It came in the form of a video game, which I had lifted off the shelf while prancing around in front of my wife going, "Oooh, get me THIS and wrap it up for Christmas!" Be wary what you ask for.

The game in question was a collected volume of "Mega Man" games, ranging from the very first to grace the original Nintendo Entertainment System up through the eighth one, which I'm pretty sure was independently released for GameCube, the same system for which the "Anniversary Collection" was released. I owned the first three of the series for my NES back in the days of yore -- and consequently sold them in a time of fiduciary need later on. But oh, the hours I'd spent playing them. Mega Man II was a point of particular personal gaming finesse, having been able to beat it in under 45 minutes. So when I was given the opportunity to fall in love with these games all over again… well, it led to the display of prancing in the aisles of Target.

But surely as time heals all wounds, you can quickly remember them. Never in my life have I experienced such intense, jaw-clenching physical rage as when I played video games. As a kid, the wall of my bedroom was nicked and scarred, the target of thrown controllers, due in part to my all-time gaming nemesis, Metroid, but mostly because my success at Mega Man II was a bitter journey to make. Working for an hour on a level, only to be grazed by an enemy shot and knocked off a ledge into oblivion, has a certain way of tapping into one's personal Incredible Hulk. In one swift move, the controller would hurtle toward the wall and my fist would come down on the console, followed by my mother yelling from downstairs, "Stop that or turn it OFF!"

As it turns out, that reaction to failure when playing video games might have become something of a Pavlovian response to me -- not long after settling into a renewed campaign of Mega Man II, this time set in modern era, I was feeling the slow burn build inside of me. It started as a result of the need to adapt my muscle memory of hand movements -- button pushing -- to fit the layout of the GameCube controller, which is a New Beetle in comparison to the Volkswagon bugs of days gone by. In a game where your virtual life can depend on being able to jump and shoot at very precise moments, having to think about what button to press is a form of benign suicide.

Clench

Then, when faced with an enemy boss that you've fought dozens of times before, you buy it when he's only got a sliver of life left. Was it bad playing or the result of controller awkwardness? Doesn't really matter. Middle finger is already extended at the television to the point of causing tendon damage.

"Screw you, you *effing* piece of shit! Gaaaaaaaaaaahhhhh!"

My wife looks in from the kitchen. "What's wrong with you?"

"Errrrrrrg!"

"Uh huh."

I made myself take a break. My play resumed after dinner, this time taking a stab at the original Mega Man. It turned out to be much, much harder than I recalled. Electronic death is swift, brutal, and generally frequent. I did my best to take it with a grain of salt since my wife was now sitting next to me on the couch, surfing on her laptop. But then came an inevitable moment of a badly timed jump after grinding my way though a level…

… I see the shot hit me, and I jump forward off the couch, like THAT's going to save me from falling in the game.

Bwip-wip-wip-wip-wip…

An explosion of little blue circles.

"Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrgghh!!!"

The controller, obviously at fault, nearly goes flying -- but thankfully age seems to have blessed me with the ability to intercept instinctive "throw" commands and replace them with "stand and seethe, while trying to crush with hand." Somewhere behind the whitewash of frustration, I feel a little more mature.

"Maybe you should stop playing," says the wife.

"I hate this game."

"Then why did you get it?"

Pause.

"Because I love this game."

"You've got issues."

I gently laid the controller down on the console and jabbed the power button.

"No… I think I just need to watch some TV."

In the end, this re-visitation of frustrated game rage has made me consider one important point for the future: I'm not going to worry about the violence my future children might witness while playing video games so much as I'll worry about them learning it from watching their dad play.