I owned an original Game Boy.
I was 3 when Nintendo released their first handheld system. My family reached into our savings to buy one. My mother loved Tetris; my father loved me being quiet on summer road trips. Built to withstand nuclear fallout and the grimy hands of a child, the machine still helps pass a couple hours on visits home. Safe to say, we got our money's worth.
Now I watch this video and I see kids who are the same age I was on those road trips. They look at the plastic brick and they wonder what it is or what it does. Is it an MP3? No, it's not an MP3!
I am old. My parents and I don't take road trips anymore, because I have to work and pay for rent and food and bathroom cleaner. This morning, I unclogged my shower, plucking the mushy wad of hair that's fallen out of my head from the drain and tossing it in the toilet. What hair remains on my head is going gray, like my grandfather who also went gray in his late 20s. One day, I'll be the same age as my grandfather, and I'll look at kids watching videos of YouTube streamed into their digital eye-implants. They'll wonder what the hell they're looking at and I'll be like, "It's YouTube you bloody whippersnappers," and then I'll plug into YouthSimulator 2044, where I can play my Pokémon on my Game Boy, assuming I still remember what either of those things are.