A Belated Apology to the Kid I Stole 'Final Fantasy VII' From

I have a confession to make. It's actually one of my earliest memories, from when I was around eight or nine. And it's not one I'm especially proud of, despite its formative effects.

I was attending some dreadful middle school up in Northumberland. I'd only been there a few months but I'd made friends with a lad who seemed a decent sort—as decent as you can seem as a nine-year-old, anyway. One day we were talking about video games as usual, when this kid pulled a game out of his backpack and told me I could borrow it. I was of primary school age—I hadn't quite nailed down a steady income yet, so the games weren't exactly flowing in. So, obviously, I took him up on the offer. The game in question was Final Fantasy VII, and as history has since documented, it turned out to be bloody fantastic.

The school being the miserable rat hole it was, though, I ended up moving not long after that act of generosity, on particularly short notice. I still had the game—and I never saw the kid again. Nearly 20 years and here I am—a video games writer with a tattoo of the Final Fantasy VII meteor logo emblazoned on my chest.

It's fair to say the game had a substantial impact on my life—but also, it's time to publically admit that, however unintentional it was, I stole the most influential game of my childhood. Much more than the value of the game itself, though, I can't help but wonder if I stole the influence that it had on me away from someone else—from some poor boy whose name I shamefully can't even remember anymore.

I want to apologize to that kid—but more importantly, I want to thank him. There aren't many people who can so traceably affect your life in such a small space of time, but his gesture has undoubtedly shaped mine. I had played video games before, of course, but Final Fantasy VII was the first game to draw me into its universe. It was more than a fancy lightshow and the chance to wield a gun—it was my first taste of how the medium could tell a story.

We've all had something taken from us and it bothers me to know that I was the little shit who stole someone's game. I've loaned out games myself, too, never to see them again. Who knows, though: Maybe the games I never got back had as profound an influence on their new owners' lives as this one did on mine.

So, I'm sorry, kid. I'm sorry, and thank you.

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