Dec. 1st, 2022 09:15 am
Guest Post: Rusty on D&D as Initiation
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thetableyoufearthemostNote from the Blog Host: Rusty and I have corresponded a bit, and he was kind enough to not only engage in conversation, but also to write this guest post. Rusty’s perspective is informed by an experience I didn’t have: growing up with D&D. Sadly, I was absolutely forbidden from playing D&D as a child–much more on that in future posts–but Rusty is able to share first-hand about some things I’ve only observed. I hope you’ll enjoy reading what he has to say as much as I did! ~Gabriel West
I had the great misfortune of turning thirteen years old in 1980. The role of history’s middle children, as Generation X is, is to stand baffled while the ragged remnants of the past are dragged kicking and screaming to the great ash heap while the future arrives on the silent paws of a unicorn and then announces itself with the might of an angry red dragon; claw, claw, bite, stomp, stomp, tail swing, flaming breath. I can, however, credit the few times I have eluded the arrival of the future to some of the skills gleaned from or enhanced by a ridiculous number of Saturday afternoons sacrificed on the Altar of Gygax.
Initiation, for the purposes of this discussion, is a rite of passage. It marks acceptance into a group and the withdrawal from a previous association. The Jungian concept of individuation, the process of integrating the diverse aspects of the personality into a balanced whole, is a related development process, and can be propelled by initiations, though they are one-and-done rather than ongoing. The irony of experience is that the obscure often becomes visible, and just as the Cold War resolved itself, so did our adolescent struggles play out in part on the backdrop of that conflict, in part in the Boy Scout troop that my D&D group came from, and finally in our education.
To begin at the beginning: In 1980, I turned 13, and I was already a Boy Scout in one of the militarized troops that turned out to actually have played a role in the Cold War, even though we didn’t know it and were hardly aware of the Bear or President Regan. As usual, the kids interested in the same things drifted together, and my D&D party formed from members of our troop. Our parents even started rattling off our names in the same order: Eric, Mike, Steve (our DM), Other Mike, Scott. The first four had birthdays close to mine, and Scott was Mike’s whip-smart younger brother who had a wild talent for rolling the elusive twenty when the rest of us were cornered. We were a big bucket of intelligence mixed with testosterone, and we had no idea what to do with either. That changed quickly once we started playing regularly.
Some decades later, I found out that our D&D party was a product of some sorcery by our moms. A group of speculative fiction fans, our moms had picked up on the good-for-you aspects of RPGs and made sure we had dining room tables to roll our dice. My mom has more than once commented on the rapid development of cooperative play – within a few months we had passed through Tuckman’s stages of group development; forming, storming, norming, performing. The overlap in our Boy Scout activities was screamingly obvious to everyone but us, but we five ended up being the ones who took on the most difficult outdoor activities. We were also the ones who played RPGs through high school, college, and even after that.
So, we became a group, but as we became a group, we became individuals as well. At the time we began playing, I was short, fat, and suffered from allergies and asthma. Naturally, my character was always a ranger, which seems to have predicted or contributed to my solitary, outdoorsy, lifestyle and spirituality. And because this blog’s host does have a bead on spiritual development, I suppose the hilarity of finding myself at game night turning down an opportunity to play a druid and playing a very ordinary fighter instead bears mention.
“But look at all the perks! Why wouldn’t you want to play a druid?”
“Because I am one!”
And I wanted a study break instead of more-study-no-break, so I played the fighter, which rather brings me full circle – having achieved much of what I wanted to do at 13, playing a regular guy is a break from an over-complicated reality.
And the rest of the party? A pity that we tried to ride the wave of Reganomics and scattered ourselves with degrees and careers; however, we do bump into each other once in a great while. Unsurprisingly, we’re all extensions of our characters from 1980. We might have pulled off something interesting together if we’d followed the rule of never separating the party, but we didn’t know, and nobody told us, that D&D and reality have quite a bit in common.
With that, I hope our host and anyone out there in computer-land with a table full of intrepid adventurers helps them make the connection that they can be a party in the really real world as well as the sadly fictional realms of D&D. To this end, I can wholeheartedly recommend Green Wizardry: Conservation, Solar Power, Organic Gardening, and other Hands-On Skills from the Appropriate Tech Toolkit by John Michael Greer. And as a fellow educator, I will help get all you nice people out there in computer-land started with some homework from Green Wizardry.
Imagine, if you will, the liveried herald of an elvish princess standing in front of her castle accompanied by waving banners and melodious trumpets announcing a quest for any brave enough to accept the challenge and reading from an ornate scroll:
Well? Are you a party, or just tavern idlers?
What say ye?
I had the great misfortune of turning thirteen years old in 1980. The role of history’s middle children, as Generation X is, is to stand baffled while the ragged remnants of the past are dragged kicking and screaming to the great ash heap while the future arrives on the silent paws of a unicorn and then announces itself with the might of an angry red dragon; claw, claw, bite, stomp, stomp, tail swing, flaming breath. I can, however, credit the few times I have eluded the arrival of the future to some of the skills gleaned from or enhanced by a ridiculous number of Saturday afternoons sacrificed on the Altar of Gygax.
Initiation, for the purposes of this discussion, is a rite of passage. It marks acceptance into a group and the withdrawal from a previous association. The Jungian concept of individuation, the process of integrating the diverse aspects of the personality into a balanced whole, is a related development process, and can be propelled by initiations, though they are one-and-done rather than ongoing. The irony of experience is that the obscure often becomes visible, and just as the Cold War resolved itself, so did our adolescent struggles play out in part on the backdrop of that conflict, in part in the Boy Scout troop that my D&D group came from, and finally in our education.
To begin at the beginning: In 1980, I turned 13, and I was already a Boy Scout in one of the militarized troops that turned out to actually have played a role in the Cold War, even though we didn’t know it and were hardly aware of the Bear or President Regan. As usual, the kids interested in the same things drifted together, and my D&D party formed from members of our troop. Our parents even started rattling off our names in the same order: Eric, Mike, Steve (our DM), Other Mike, Scott. The first four had birthdays close to mine, and Scott was Mike’s whip-smart younger brother who had a wild talent for rolling the elusive twenty when the rest of us were cornered. We were a big bucket of intelligence mixed with testosterone, and we had no idea what to do with either. That changed quickly once we started playing regularly.
Some decades later, I found out that our D&D party was a product of some sorcery by our moms. A group of speculative fiction fans, our moms had picked up on the good-for-you aspects of RPGs and made sure we had dining room tables to roll our dice. My mom has more than once commented on the rapid development of cooperative play – within a few months we had passed through Tuckman’s stages of group development; forming, storming, norming, performing. The overlap in our Boy Scout activities was screamingly obvious to everyone but us, but we five ended up being the ones who took on the most difficult outdoor activities. We were also the ones who played RPGs through high school, college, and even after that.
So, we became a group, but as we became a group, we became individuals as well. At the time we began playing, I was short, fat, and suffered from allergies and asthma. Naturally, my character was always a ranger, which seems to have predicted or contributed to my solitary, outdoorsy, lifestyle and spirituality. And because this blog’s host does have a bead on spiritual development, I suppose the hilarity of finding myself at game night turning down an opportunity to play a druid and playing a very ordinary fighter instead bears mention.
“But look at all the perks! Why wouldn’t you want to play a druid?”
“Because I am one!”
And I wanted a study break instead of more-study-no-break, so I played the fighter, which rather brings me full circle – having achieved much of what I wanted to do at 13, playing a regular guy is a break from an over-complicated reality.
And the rest of the party? A pity that we tried to ride the wave of Reganomics and scattered ourselves with degrees and careers; however, we do bump into each other once in a great while. Unsurprisingly, we’re all extensions of our characters from 1980. We might have pulled off something interesting together if we’d followed the rule of never separating the party, but we didn’t know, and nobody told us, that D&D and reality have quite a bit in common.
With that, I hope our host and anyone out there in computer-land with a table full of intrepid adventurers helps them make the connection that they can be a party in the really real world as well as the sadly fictional realms of D&D. To this end, I can wholeheartedly recommend Green Wizardry: Conservation, Solar Power, Organic Gardening, and other Hands-On Skills from the Appropriate Tech Toolkit by John Michael Greer. And as a fellow educator, I will help get all you nice people out there in computer-land started with some homework from Green Wizardry.
Imagine, if you will, the liveried herald of an elvish princess standing in front of her castle accompanied by waving banners and melodious trumpets announcing a quest for any brave enough to accept the challenge and reading from an ornate scroll:
Exercise for Lesson 36
The exercise for this lesson consists of imagining the rest of your life – however long that is likely to be – against the background of a future of gradual economic contraction, social turmoil, and technological regression. Your goal is to envision ways in which you and those you care about can lead creative, humane, and meaningful lives in such a time. This often takes a major effort of imagination for people nowadays, but the effort is worth making; it’s those who can reimagine their lives in a way that doesn’t rely on the crutch of faith in perpetual progress who will be best prepared to accomplish things worth doing in the years to come.Well? Are you a party, or just tavern idlers?
What say ye?
Re: ...stay a party