I’m always the last to know.
That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Case in point: Star Wars. When it came to my lil’ ol’ town when I was a wee laddie, I had no idea what it was about. One of my friends just asked if I wanted to go, and being your average grammar school kid eternally on the lookout for something to do, I naturally said yes.
Now, if I’d walked into that film fully aware of what I was about to see, my expectations might have been too high. As it was, however, I emerged from the theater with a completely new appreciation for cinema and special effects. Being clueless about the whole thing obviously worked in my favor.
The same goes for Dungeons and Dragons. If I’d known in 7th grade that the cool kids considered D&D a game for the terminally unhip and socially challenged, I’d have cast a more jaundiced eye on Miss Cooley, the quirky lady with the impish grin who taught a small class of “gifted” students in a closet-sized classroom in the junior high basement that reeked of formaldehyde. (Note: I wasn’t terribly gifted myself, but my school had a policy that students had to take either P.E. or band, and since I wanted nothing to do with either, my father arranged for me to enroll in the gifted program instead. Thanks, daddy.)
As it was, however, when Miss Cooley began putting us through the paces of hit points and charisma levels and 20-sided dice, I was completely charmed. D&D lacked the pizzazz of Defender or Pac Man, but it was way better than Candyland or Mousetrap or any boardgame. For the next six years, I was hooked.
So it is without [much] irony that I can say today, Happy birthday, D&D!” In turning me into a social pariah, you provided me with many enjoyable hours during my most acne-prone years.
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