Twenty-five years ago this week, Doom, the original first-person shooter game, debuted.
And like millions of other Americans, my older brother played it often. My brother is seven years old than me, so since I was too young to really play the game, I’d sit beside him as he played. We’d insert the floppy disk into the computer tower and wait anxiously for it to load. I watched every move he made, filled with excitement.
I experienced a combination of terror and awe: gun in hand, destroying demo
