Christmas of 1985 was not supposed to go like this. I had my heart set on a bike that I had been coveting for months. I made my parents hint at it incessantly. I put little circles around the red Schwinn in the Sears catalogue. I wrote reminders in their calendars to go buy it for me. What I got was a Sega Master System because it was on clearance at Kay-Bee Toys and they thought video games were all the same. Don’t hate them because they made a great mistake.
The Master System already came with Alex Kidd in Miracle World installed, so I was fine with that. I loved Alex almost as much as I loved Mario. I spent that entire winter vacation figuring out why Alex punched people with weird overlapping arms and why every boss fight was rock-paper-scissors that didn’t make any sense but somehow worked within Alex’s world paradigm. I fell in love with platformers that holiday season.
Looking back, I think these eight games hardwired my brain in ways I’m still not aware of. I think patterns learned and practiced while playing these games have influenced how I think about other aspects of my life today. I know the hand-eye coordination, reaction time, and sheer stubbornness required to complete platformers was etched into my brain during those formative years. They will stay with me for the rest of my life. When I’m lecturing my high school students aboutmacroeconomics and one of them rolls their eyes at me I’ll think of trying to figure out where to jump on those speeding ostriches in Jellyenberg but I’ll never say that to them. I’m a professional.
Super Mario Bros. eventually ported to Master System via a licensing deal that I didn’t understand then and still don’t today, but when it landed on shelves everything changed. The lessons I learned from punching millionaires in Alex Kidd were meaningless compared to my first proper introduction to Mario. When I learned that stomping on a Goomba killed it permanently I understood game design more than I did after four years of middle school. Mario moved just right. His momentum and acceleration were spot on. His jump height changed based on how long you held the button. There was a rhythm to his movement that we’re still replicating to this day.
I remember inviting my friend Mike over so he could play Super Mario Bros. from start to finish without using any warp zones. This was probably 1987 and “beatening” Super Mario Bros. was still considered a feat. We crowded around the TV as I played, silent except for the commentary Mike provided. “Fire bars are down, GO GO GO!” We cheered as that damn bridge collapsed and Toad thanked us for saving the Princess. We jumped out of our seats like we had just won the Super Bowl.
Super Mario Bros. 3 taught me that platformers were about more than going from Point A to Point B. Whether we liked it or not, Nintendo was elevating the genre to new heights. Don’t make me buy the Genesis version of this game to prove my point.… Oh wait. Ok, I did buy the Genesis version of this game. Please continue. I watched Super Mario Bros. 3 every Sunday at my cousin’s house because he had Nintendo and I was a Sega boy. The raccoon tail blew my mind. FLAPPIN’ IN A 2D PLATFORMER YOU SON OF A BITCH. Who does that? The level design taught you game mechanics as you played through the world. It wasn’t until Mario 3 that video games taught me how not to make tutorials.
Just the world map was revolutionary. Being able to visually see where you had been, choose your own path, discover secret areas… My cousin and I kept a notebook of all the warp whistle locations and secret coin ships. Other kids at our bus stop would actually ask to borrow our notebook! As if we made copies or something. We were lorekeepers before “the internet” was a thing gamers used to share information.
Enter Sonic and all of sudden being a Sega fan didn’t make me an outsider. The first time I played Sonic the Hedgehog at the mall I knew Sega had something special. Mario was precise. Sonic was swagger. Mario jumps liked he calculated every move. Sonic blasted through stages. Theirities differed by sport: Mario had physics, Sonic had momentum. Sonic was not faster Mario, Sonic was an answer to Mario.
Everything Sonic 2 did right, Sonic perfected. Chemical Plant is perhaps my favourite platforming level of all time. That purple water level? Heave lifting for air while the water threatens to drown you? They are gameplayING YOUR EMOTIONS HERE. Sonic 2 was immaculate.
And that spin dash. Oh god, the spin dash. Being able to build up speed from a complete standstill changed so many aspects of level design. It opened the doors for innovation we were yet to see. And TAILS! My girlfriend (yes, we were together) couldn’t play with me because she kept dying and we couldn’t save. Enter videogames best(purely based off market) AI companion. Tails allowed my younger sister to “play” along with me without the frustration of dying over and over. This was Sega at their family friendly best.
Completing Sonic 2 and beating that final robot with zero rings felt like a true test of pattern recognition and execution. No power-ups. No checkpoints. Do it or die. Repeat. When I finally beat that damn robot on my 50th try I screamed so loud that our neighbour Mrs. Peterson thought there was a BREAK-IN and came over to cheque on us. Trying to explain to an elderly woman that you’re happy you’re not dying but you JUST DIDN’T LIKE LOSING ANIMAL DRAWINGDESIRED was humiliating but also a GREAT memory.
Around this time is when I played Mega Man 2 at a friend’s house and fell in love with how they approached challenges within a platformer. The screen where you choose which Robot Master you’d like to tackle next was ingenious. Learning as you play only to be able to select YOUR CURRENT WEAKNESS to conquer by using another Robot Master’s weapon felt like such a rewarding system. Stuck on one boss? Go beat another world, acquire their weapon, then go STRANGLE YOUR PROBLEM WITH FIRE.
Mega Man 2 ’s controls felt so restrictive when compared to Mario or Sonic. You couldn’t jump high if you wanted to and Mega Man always ran at the same speed. But that strictness allowed for incredible precision-based level design. Mario and Sonic were about momentum. Mega Man was about timing and placement. Everything I learned about games taking pity on you and teaching players to recognise patterns were taught to me in Dr. Wily’s fortress.
Quick Man’s stage. THOSE LASER RAYS KILLED ME. If you weren’t holding down that jump button as you ran through those rooms you died instantly. There was no twitch reflexes making those jumps. You had to know when to FUCKING JUMP. Memorization at its finest. Every time I beat that stage I felt like I graduated from gaming college.
When Donkey Kong Country graced the screens of the Super Nintendo I was finally out of Sega-forn but was able to play it at my friend’s house. Those pre-rendered graphics looked like a unicorn shit diarrhetic explosion onscreen. I remember scooting my seat in close to the TV trying to figure out how they made those tree’s texture so fuzzy. Donkey Kong Country didn’t just look better than every other 2D platformer – it played better than every other 2D platformer.
Mine Cart Racing was lit. OKAAAAYYY, we’ll never use that term when talking about something from 1994 but hear me out. That level was a true test of professional gamer vs casual gamer. Keeping up with the speeding mine cart while jumping over precarious gaps and missing spikes felt empowering and damn fun. My friend Chris and I even devised a system where the non-playing kart companion would serve as your spotter. “JUMP! GAP GAP GAP!” became our international language of panic.
No other platformer added a new skill qquence to their movement arsenal than DKC’s barrel cannon mechanic. Not only did you have to time your jumps from one side to the next, you had to be able to trust that you’d landed far enough in advance to make the next jump. There was beauty in that skill-based combination of momentum and rhythm that was unmatched by any other platformer.
Super Mario 64 made me realise I needed a Nintendo along with my Sega consoles. Being able to run around in Mario’s world in true 3D blew my mind. The first time I ran circles around Peach’s castle because I could was one of the most liberating feelings of my childhood. Sure the camera in Mario 64 was far from perfect (keep your dankus out of my face lakitu), but it fixed so many problems we didn’t know we had.
Mario’s movement in 64 explored so many more facets of platforming. Triple jump, long jump, backflip, wall jump… Each style of traversal had its uses and learning when to use which jump felt necessary if you wanted to 100% that game. I spent days in Mario 64’s castle courtyard trying to break the system. When I discovered I could long jump into a dive and ground-pound to cover massive distances I felt like I found an exploit.
Trying to get all 120 stars in Mario 64 was my hobby for most of 1997. I made a checklist and would physically mark off each star as I got them. My mom even started asking me if “my little plumber friend” had rescued the Princess Toadstool yet. (Yes mom, SHE CAN GET HERSELF OUT OF JACK AND JILL FALLING ANYTIME SHE SHEATLES YOU.) The Rainbow Ride level was my nemesis. I think it took me 30 total attempts to get that damn coin. I still get excited when I see that coin teleported into my pocket.
Banjo-Kazooie was everything 3D platformers were learning how to do by the late ’90s. Taking Mario 64’s precursor to gaming’s first open world and refining it into something so cohesive. Gameplay wise, Banjo-Kazooie did everything Mario 64 introduced and more. The bird/bear dynamic allowed movement capabilities that built off the foundation that Mario 64 created. High jump, glide, attacks, you name it. It felt like evolution, not revolution.
Levels like Click Clock Wood were some of the most ingenious level design I had ever encountered. Four seasons. Four unique sets of challenges and rewards. Click Clock Wood rewarded a true awareness of your surroundings and attention to detail that was unmatched by any other level. I created a spiral bound notebook documenting each season and what I should look for when playing through it.
What each of these games gave to me was something for the platformer lexicon. Mario taught me how to move within these worlds. Sonic taught me momentum. Mega Man taught me power ups were fun. DKC taught me textures. Mario 64 taught me how to move in 3D. Crash taught me how not to enjoy platformers. Rayman taught me pixel art was ok. And Banjo-Kazooie borrowed from his predecessors to give me one of the best games of all time.
Video games were still in their adolescence as I played these titles. They weren’t just evolving on a technological level, they were evolving as a medium. Challenge was once the driving force of platformers and though that isn’t gone, players craved additional content as technology allowed for it. Story elements, character development, world-building. Kids wanted more and as they grew up, so did video games.
Platformers taught me patience like no other medium could. There was something to be said about learning the patterns of those scrolling airships in Super Mario 3. Anticipating those damn cannonball patterns in Mega Man 2. Jumping just a hair before you knew you should. Modern games have smoothed out a lot of the infuriating chokepoints of older platformers, but I think there was method to the madness back then. They weren’t going to hold your hand. YOUadaptto THEM.
Triple jumping because you read about it on a message board is something I will carry with me for the rest of my life. The proto-Twitch skills I learned playing these games translated into every other game I’ve ever played. I look back on these fondly not just because they gave me wonderful memories, but because they taught me how to think about playing video games. We didn’t know any better, so we didn’t question it. We just played.
Double jumping is something I think about when I’m teaching students about the necessity of preventative maintenance during the industrial revolution. Ever since that Christmas Day when I unwrapped my Sega Master System I have been learning how to play – whether I realised it or not. Gaming shaped me into who I am today. Will I forget about these moments as technology advances? I certainly hope not.
Understanding patterns in Super Mario Bros. world 4 taught me how to identify logical sequences in math. Figuring out the yellow block room in Castlevania III taught me that every challenge in life can be overcome with persistence. FINISHING DOOM taught me to take breaks.
Please don’t @ me.
Elena is a librarian in Dublin with an encyclopedic knowledge of obscure European computer games that most English-language gaming sites completely ignore. She champions forgotten systems—the Commodore 16, the Spectrum 128K, the Atari ST’s untapped potential—with infectious enthusiasm and genuine expertise. Her writing documents regional exclusives and hidden gems that barely made it to print before the companies folded, preserving gaming history that would otherwise disappear entirely. She approaches retro gaming as cultural preservation, not mere nostalgia.
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