In Which The Dice Fall Silent

It's a few days late (ain't that the story of my life), but now that I'm feeling marginally human again, I don't think I can really let it go by without saying something about Gary Gygax.

There are a lot of memorials out there already, ranging from funny to downright touching. I don't really have one of those; this is more of a reflection on gaming and my relationship with it.

Compared to a lot of my generation's nerds I was a bit of a late bloomer when it comes to gaming. I never picked up a d20 or saw the inside of a PHB until I was 19. Growing up in a fairly traditional Christian household, I'd been raised to equate D&D with devil-worship, black magic and all that fun stuff. Now, before this goes any further, understand - I am not trying to paint my childhood like it was a living Chick tract. As misguided as they were about the evils of dice with more than six sides, my parents are not screaming zealots. They bought into the hype and made a decision on bad information. It happens.

Given that background, it is perhaps the greatest irony that I was introduced to the hobby through a group of friends I met at a bible study shortly after I arrived at my first duty station in 1997. I think that first character, a ranger, lasted all of two sessions. There was a web spell, flames were involved...his was a short, unhappy life. But the hook was in. As I stumbled my way through those first few sessions, I started to realize: yeah, maybe these guys are a little weird, but overall they're just...guys (I don't recall if we had any girls around the table at that point, though a few did drift in later on). No black masses, no dark arcane rituals, and the only animal sacrifice was whatever went into those Taco Bell burritos.

And this stuff was actually kind of fun.

That first group of gaming buddies was kind of a mixed blessing, looking back. On the one hand, they were a great bunch; I made some great friends, and I still keep in touch with a few even though it's been almost ten years since our dicing days and they all live five or six states away. We weren't always the strongest role-players, maybe, but the sessions were almost always fun. The downside, of course, is that when I left the group I was rather spoiled. I'm sure the nostalgia factor is kicking in a bit, but I don't think I've ever found quite the same rapport with my gaming groups since then.

These last few years have been especially lean, gamewise. Sure, there are a few comic stores around I could probably sound out, but I've found as I get older my tolerance for spending hours at a table with strangers of dubious hygiene is dropping fast. Not many of my friends play. And now there's a good chance my time in Omaha is coming to a close later this year. Still, wherever I end up, I'll probably get the urge to dust off the Crown Royal bag and track down some kobolds to skewer.

For the late nights (and some early mornings), the good friends and the vast consumption of junk food: here's to the Double-G.