If you wanted to know where all the neighborhood kids were on a Friday afternoon, all you had to do was look for the pile of bicycles outside the local 7-Eleven.

We were inside, gathered around the arcade machine, waiting for our turn and watching every move of whoever was playing.

Friday afternoons were something special.

The rest of the week belonged to school, homework, chores, and whatever else our parents decided needed doing. Oh, we could still ride our bicycles around the neighborhood after our responsibilities were finished. But riding beyond our street, with a little spending money in our pockets? Now that was a Friday worth waiting for.

Not that having money was a requirement for showing up.

There were afternoons when I didn’t have a single quarter to my name, and I’d go anyway. I’d stand there watching somebody else play, offering the occasional bit of advice as though I had some official business being there.

Funny how everybody became an expert when somebody else was playing.

But when I did have a few quarters? Oh, that was a different story.

I’d ride up wearing my jeans and baseball shirt, smacking away on a wad of Big League Chew, ready to challenge whoever was standing at that machine.

And heaven help whoever thought they were the neighborhood Pac-Man champion.

You didn’t need to announce that you were next. You simply walked up, placed your quarter on the edge of the machine, and that settled it.

And when it was your turn, you’d better make it count. A dollar only bought you four chances, and when you were a teenager without much money, every quarter mattered.

But the real prize? Getting your initials on that high-score board.

Three little letters. And suddenly, you were somebody!

It’s been years, and I still love video games. Pac-Man remains one of my favorites.

And you know what? I think I could still go for a Slurpee.