Farewell to the Basement
I have a confession to make. Ready? Here goes:
I grew up playing D&D in my parents' basement.
That's right, I lived the cliché: I spent the entire decade of the 80s (as well as a few scattered weekends in the early to mid-90s) rolling dice with my buddies in an insulated subterranean lair on rural Lemon Road. Though in the early years we played in various places, the basement eventually (and inevitably) became the default location for our gaming activities.
Over the years, we really turned
that basement into the optimal D&D location. Posters from our favorite
fantasy artists, from Easley to Brom. Giant maps of the campaign settings we
used (first the Greyhawk hex map, and then the enormous Realms "trail maps").
Lots of comfy chairs "rescued" from relatives and garage sales. A poker table
showed up in high school, followed by a worn, sagging-in-the-middle pool table.
Even a life-size rendition of Spider-Man painted by my dad when we were mere
lads (see right). And of course, shelves full of our favorite RPGs.
As I've noted elsewhere, I'm lucky to still hang out with a number of the guys who gamed with me in that basement, though along the way several others have moved on (or just disappeared). Some of the former regulars include Dan Ford, Charlie Nath, Michael Keith, Ken Okagi, and a guy named Robert whose last name I can't remember, but whose character's immortal words, upon hearing a rumbling in the dungeon corridor, we still quote today: "Uh-oh, puhpul wuhm !" Ah, good times.
Eventually, of course, we had to leave the basement behind. I gamed a bit in college, but playing in dorm rooms or meeting rooms never had the same feeling of comfort as throwing dice in your own basement. After college, my apartment became the center of gaming (I was the DM with all the books, after all), but it was too cramped to feel relaxed. When Gwendolyn and I started looking for a house, we knew that, even if we couldn't get a basement, we needed to secure a large room that could be dedicated entirely to gaming. Thankfully, we succeeded, and for a couple years now we've established a new place of gaming comfort. It's not quite as heat-resistant as the basement was--particularly during those rare summer days we get here in the Pacific Northwest--but it's home, and that's pretty good.
But I'm getting sidetracked. Last year, my parents came to the conclusion that their house was getting a bit too big for them. and that the time had arrived to start looking for a smaller place that they could more easily take care of. After almost 30 years, a remodeling, and a post-fire rebuilding, the "Old Collins Place" was leaving the family.
That, of course, meant that the basement was going with it. Now, it's been several years since we last rolled dice or shuffled cards down there, but it still seemed like the event merited recognition. Thus, about two months ago several of the remaining Basement Gang gathered together for a "Farewell to the Basement" party. Attendees included Dennis and Beth Worrell (along with sons Victor and Thor), Scott and Heather Smith (plus sons Austin and Chance), Brent and Francesca Pearson, Marc Russell, Viet Nguyen, "newcomer" Chris Galvin, my brother Greg, and our parents Katie and Bill.
As
it turned out, we didn't roll a single die that afternoon; instead, we shared
stories of the old days with some of the newer arrivals to the group, barbecued
burgers and dogs (just like the old days), and watched the next generation of
gamers run themselves silly (and wear us old folks out in the process as
demonstrated by "Victor Skywalker vs. Darth Marc" to the left).
We wrapped up the day by trundling
the group over to the "New Collins Place" across town, where it was agreed
that--although different--this new house would undoubtedly prove a great place
for young 'uns to visit and play. (Victor, Austin, be careful with those
lightsabers or you're gonna burn yourselves!) The Worrell boys in particular had to be
dragged away kicking and screaming (perhaps surprisingly, Dennis managed to keep
it together).
The basement's now all-but-gone--the sale of my parents' old home closes any day. By the end of the month, it'll only be a collection of memories. But what memories! Uncounted hours of adventure, laughter, excitement, and bad-dice-rolling stories. (When the archaeologists dig up the field outside our house, I don't want to know how many of Greg's d20s they find, exiled from the table forever for one too many natural 1s.) Bad beats at the poker table, bad breaks on the pool table, and bad splits in the hearts games. (Whaddya mean you're out of diamonds?!)
Odds are, we'll still be telling
those stories when our kids are as old as we are now, rolling their eyes at
another lame tale of the trips to Izzy's Pizza Parlor after all-night gaming
sessions. (Kids, consider this an advance warning; when your Uncle Greg asks
Uncle Kevin, "For what?" cover your ears, because he's about to use a naughty
word.)
(Hey, Thor, whatcha pointin' at?)
Thankfully, though, the memories won't stop there. We've already started making new gaming-related memories, whether they be long, early-morning bike rides across campus after a Dark Sun game in the middle of Finals Week or me breaking my toe during a game of Advanced Civilization. (Stupid staircase.)
Besides, Joe, Chris, and Jesse need
to be part of new memories and catchphrases, if for no other reason than it'll
give me an excuse to stop saying, "Could be lunch meat, could be peaches."*
Share your "basement days" memories on our message boards.
*Bonus points for anyone who can finish the quote, or tell me where it's from.
G'night, Chance!