It’s funny how things hit you when you’re not expecting them.
I’m not really known for being a very sentimental guy. If anything, I probably come off as a bit remote, to most people. Opening up about how I feel about something isn’t really my cup of tea.
The news of the passing of Gary Gygax hit me HARD. It took some time for me to sort out these feelings. I couldn’t figure out why the hell the death of some old gaming dude was bothering me so much. I mean, he’s only half of the duo responsible for Dungeons and Dragons, anyways, right?
That may be true, but he was certainly the only half that anyone ever heard about. Without reading the news articles today, I doubt most gamers, even hardcore long-term gamers like myself, could name the other half (it’s Dave Arneson, in case you wondered).
And after some careful consideration over my perplexing emotional state, this is what I have concluded:
- I am a ninny.
- I am a game geek.
My earliest and fondest memories are of playing D&D, and role-playing games, most notably D&D, have been a fundamental element of my life.
I care more about this silly game than I do almost anything else (except the wife and kids…). Even when I was at my deepest depressions, or my sickest mania, I have always had time and patience for gaming.
I started playing D&D almost as it was being marketed for the first time (as D&D…I never played Chainmail). Hell, I played from the very first editions, and have played every version in between, and have bought the core books so many times over I can’t count them all. Even the ones that sucked (read: Skills and Powers).
Through it all, I have never lost sight of the fact that the root of all current popular role-playing gaming can be distilled down to the work of one E. Gary Gygax (and that other guy). Sure, there were a lot of table-top war games that contributed to the RPG industry. None have ever had or continue to have the powerful impact and immense following that D&D have, though. And nobody has been considered more the voice of gaming than one Ernest Gary Gygax. None of you (damn) kids would ever be playing Warcraft, or even Doom, for that matter, had it not been for the explosive popularity of role playing games like D&D (and you kids keep off my lawn).
But I never met him. Never shook his hand, or got to thank him personally. Never even got an autograph. So why is his death so directly affecting me? Because it’s the death of a symbol. In my life, there have been precious few symbols that stand the test of time. My parents gave me nothing to hang from, in that regard, except perhaps a disregard for parent-child relationships. My time served in the United States Navy gave me many things, but nothing with the lasting power of a symbol. Aren’t I a true patriot? Certainly, but not a flag-waving zealot, to be sure. My current life is wonderful, too, and filled with pleasures that only my own hard work and perseverance have afforded me. I’m blessed to be able to share it with a wonderful woman, and look forward to passing on my good fortune to my children. But I see nothing in any of these things that carries the power of a symbol, not this symbol. Not for me, at least.
This. This…stupid, silly book:
That, to me, is a SYMBOL. A symbol with the subtitle, “by Gary Gygax.”
It’s a symbol of the eternalness of the child that lives behind these eyes. It’s a symbol of the joy of having a hobby that lets me make friends anywhere, at any time. It is, above all, a symbol of happiness. It gives me the breath to laugh in the face of death, and the temerity to dive headlong over precipice of oblivion, and after all that, I can have a glass of soda, eat a few cookies, and relax with a few good friends. How is that not powerful? How is that not a symbol?
There is one thing that I have done more than any other thing in my life, and that is play D&D. More than doing schoolwork, degrees notwithstanding. Certainly more than any job or career I have had. It has been more compelling to me at times than my own life (and there are those who would call this unhealthy, but look at me now, Jack Chick, and suck it). Frankly, there were times when I was so poor, that playing D&D was the only release I could afford (it helps if you have the books already…this was before WotC started revising the goddamn game every 18 months and fishing in your pockets). In all of my nearly thirty nine years on this planet, only eight of them were not haunted by those lovely little funny-looking dice, and those murderously heavy books.
Losing Gary Gygax weakens my perception of the immortality of this game. It puts my faith in its perpetuity at risk. It challenges my own mortality, too, of course. If Gygax can die, then what of my beloved game? Where in this fluid world will I be able to cast my childhood anchor? But the logical side of my brain takes over just in time, reminding me that the game is in other hands now, for better or worse, and is in no danger of slipping away (as long as WotC doesn’t screw the pooch). Frankly, as long as the old books are still available in used book shelves, the game is always just a store run away.
So, it’s with a heavy weight on my soul, that I say a final farewell to an idol of my childhood. My heart goes out to his family and friends, for they have lost a truly great man, faults and all. By comparison, all that I have lost is an icon of my youth, but that still makes me very sad, as silly as it may sound to you. Rest in peace, Gary. May all your hit rolls come up natural 20.
