The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time hit ten years of age last month, and I am so proud of it. The day I got the game, I skipped half a day of school, brought it home and forgot school even existed until my mother made me go back there the next morning. Once in class, I couldn't stop talking about Link's first 3D adventure. I bounced off the walls so hard that the teacher sent me out.
Why this story is magical: I was eighteen at the time and attending grade 13, a "preparation" year for college. And I had been exiled to the hallway for disturbing the class like an eight-year-old with a pocket full of fart bombs.
Ocarina of Time hasn't aged well in ten years. If I encountered a hermit scratching moss from behind his ears and blinking at the sunglight for the first time in two decades, I'd direct him in his video game education thusly: skip Ocarina of Time and go straight for Twilight Princess or even Majora's Mask. Link's first N64 outing was lacking in swordplay, no thanks to a barren overworld bristling with a few fences and peahats, maybe a leever or two.
But if this hermit told me some manner of centipede god had told him to emerge into the world strictly to study game history, I'd tell him, "Oh shit dude, Ocarina of Time all the way." Ocarina of Time is a pioneer. Bare fields were a small tradeoff for playing the Zelda series' classic puzzles in 3D for the first time. Light a torch with a lantern? Yeah, if you're a sissy. Light a torch by shooting an arrow through a living flame and sparking the cold sconce on the other side of a pit? Awesome.
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