Gratitude

As longtime readers know, I owe my introduction to Dungeons & Dragons – and, through it, to the larger hobby of roleplaying – to the disappearance of James Dallas Egbert III in August 1979. My father was utterly fascinated by the news coverage and the “strange new game” that supposedly played a part in Egbert’s vanishing. He talked about it constantly. My mother, ever practical, bought him a copy of the Holmes Basic Set from the Sears catalog store so he could see for himself whether the game bore any resemblance to the breathless, confused media reports.

Dad’s reaction on receiving it was characteristic. “What am I going to do with this?” he asked and he meant it. The box went straight into the upstairs linen closet, where it sat – unopened and undisturbed – until Christmas of that same year, when I asked if I could have it to learn how to play D&D. The rest, as the saying goes, is history.

In a very real sense, I owe my entry into the hobby just as much to my parents, especially my mother, as to Egbert’s disappearance. Had my father not been captivated by those stories, had my mother not ordered that Basic Set on a whim, it’s entirely possible I never would have found my way to roleplaying games or, if I had, it might have happened later and under very different – and perhaps less welcoming – circumstances. That’s one of the reasons I remain deeply grateful to them both. My young life and, truthfully, my present one could have been very different indeed.

But that’s only part of it. They didn’t just toss the game in my path and walk away. They encouraged me – sometimes directly, sometimes in small, nearly invisible ways – to keep going. They drove me to remote hobby shops tucked into strip malls or down side streets when I was hunting some obscure game or module. They clipped announcements from the local paper about “games day” events at the library. They let my friends and I take over the basement for hours on end. I doubt they ever really understood what D&D was or why it captivated me, but that never mattered. What mattered to them was that I was enjoying myself and that these games had opened doors to other interests – history, languages, mythology, religion – that broadened my world and, to some degree, shaped who I was becoming in obviously positive ways.

They also never once questioned the value of D&D or roleplaying games. They didn’t treat my hours spent reading rulebooks or drawing maps as a waste of time, nor did they worry that the hobby was odd, dangerous, or somehow leading me astray – quite the contrary! I often hear stories from people my age whose parents did fear Dungeons & Dragons and whose anxieties left lasting scars. I have no such stories of my own to tell. All that panic completely passed me by, which, I suppose, is no surprise given my own origin story as a roleplayer. If my parents weren’t put off by the James Dallas Egbert case, none of the other sensationalist nonsense that later swirled around the game stood a chance. That quiet vote of confidence, unstated but unmistakable, mattered more than I realized at the time.

Looking back, I can see that what they offered me wasn’t just permission but the freedom to explore something that excited me without judgment or fear. Childhood passions often flare and fade quickly, but they took this one seriously enough to let it grow. I don’t want to paint an overly rosy picture; ours wasn’t a sitcom household where every quirk was lovingly indulged. They had their flaws, as all parents do, and I certainly had mine. But when it came to this strange new hobby of mine, they showed patience, generosity, and an uncomplicated willingness to let me be who I was becoming through contact with it.

For that, I'll remain grateful to my parents. Their small, steady acts of support nudged my life in a direction neither they nor I could have predicted. If I’m honest, most of what followed – the friendships, the writing, the years spent exploring imaginary worlds – all trace back to that unopened box in the upstairs linen closet and to the two people who, without fully understanding it, gave me permission to open it.

Thanks, Mom and Dad.