Cobra Command (1988-)

The front room was still dim, lit mostly by the soft blinking of the multicolored Christmas tree lights and the weak glow of the snowy morning sky behind the curtains. Torn wrapping paper was scattered across the carpet like festive confetti, and the smell of cinnamon rolls from the kitchen clung to the air. My younger sister was busy making her new doll "talk" on the couch, while Dad nursed a cup of coffee and read the instructions to a toy he didn’t understand. But I was parked cross-legged in front of the wood-paneled TV stand, grinning as I held the grey NES cartridge of Cobra Command in both hands like it was made of gold.

The second I popped the game in and pushed that satisfying power button, the screen came alive with pixel explosions and bold lettering. The tinny but thrilling music filled the room, its synthesized rhythm sounding like something from an action movie, and I felt a jolt of excitement. The title screen showed my helicopter—the LX-3 Super Chopper—ready for battle. I picked up the rectangular controller, the red buttons still shiny from the box, and started my mission. The graphics weren’t flashy like the arcade version, but to me, they looked awesome. Explosions popped on screen like little firecrackers, and the chopper made a satisfying thup-thup-thup sound as it hovered across enemy terrain.

The room was alive with the kind of warmth you only get once a year. Mom walked in holding a tray of hot cocoa with the mini marshmallows starting to melt, while my older cousin, who had stayed over, leaned in to give me “tips” even though I knew he’d never played it. My dog wandered under the coffee table sniffing for crumbs, and someone had turned on the fireplace, making the whole space feel like a real-life Christmas card. Every so often I’d hear a “Good job!” from behind me as I shot down enemy tanks or rescued hostages. I wasn’t just playing a game—I was piloting a high-tech helicopter on a mission to save the world, all while surrounded by wrapping paper, family laughter, and the smell of breakfast.

Even when I crashed into enemy fire, I didn’t get frustrated. It didn’t matter. It was Christmas. I had a new game, the whole day ahead, and nothing to worry about except dodging heat-seeking missiles and running out of ammo. Cobra Command was loud, fast, and felt just hard enough to keep me locked in, determined to get further each time. And as the NES crackled away and the tree lights blinked behind the TV screen, I knew this was one of those mornings I’d always remember—not just for the game, but for how perfect everything felt all at once.