Author: Wil

On the way home from school today, Nolan and I were listening to Ethel on XM 47.
A band that I am not familiar with, called “The Distillers”, did their rock and roll thing. It was pretty cool, so I turned it up, and took advantage of the break in our storm to open all the windows and the sunroof.
“Is that person singing a boy or a girl?” Nolan said.
“I’m not sure. Why?” I said.
“I saw this video, and I can’t tell if it’s a boy or a girl.” He said.
“That’s what Rock and Roll is all about, Nolan.”

Before you read this, check out Comments from the Wife version 3.0 and version 3.1.
We went to visit Kris in the hospital today. Her spirits were up and she looked great. She spent the week doing her radiation treatments and did her final chemo on Saturday. Today was a day of rest as far as any treatment goes. Tomorrow is the big day. Transplant day. I will be donating platelets to her tomorrow as she will need a great deal of these after her transplant. Kris wrote something down that she wanted me to post for her. So this is from Kris.

A note of thanks to all
To each one of you: for every dollar, for every good wish and prayer and especially for monkey mojo, I say a great big thank you.
Anne brings me your comments regularly and no matter what my day has been like, I read them. I sometimes laugh, always cry and am touched by how remarkable human kindness can be.
You are great to support me and our cause for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. Wow! Over $12,000! I am truly amazed. All blood cancer patients will benefit from this.
Anne and Wil are incredible friends and not just because of this. My wish back to all of you is that you may find true friendship and love in your lives and stay healthy and happy. I am so blessed to have these two in my corner-I hope they know how much I love them.
I’m doing alright. Radiation has kicked my butt — but I kick harder! Monday is transplant day. I am determined to beat this. I will see my children grown and I will grow old with my husband!
Again, thanks to all . . .
Sincerely from the heart,
Kris

A Note from Wil: We’re about halfway to our first milestone of $25,000, and it’s only been ten days! Thank you all for your support.

Several months ago, I sat in a pub with a good friend of mine who had just found out his wife was pregnant. We hoisted pints of Guinness and ate vinegar-soaked chips covered with salt. Ah, the reckless abandon of celebration.
“I can’t believe I’m going to be a father! I’m equal parts terrified and excited.” He said.
“That sounds about right,” I said. “How’s Jennifer doing?”
“She’s great. We’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“I’m really happy for you. You’re going to be a great father.”
Someone put Cream’s “Badge” on the jukebox. We ordered two more pints.
“You’ve been doing this for a few years,” he said, “and you seem like a pretty good father –”
“Stepfather,” I corrected him.
“Whatever. You’re a father-figure.”
“I’m more like a backup quarterback who can get pulled from the game at any time, but go ahead.”
“If you could only give one bit of advice to me, what would it be? What’s the most important thing?”
Now it was my turn to take a long drink. And then another.
“Forty-two,” I said, and we both laughed.
“I don’t know, man. there are so many things . . . I guess you shouldn’t be afraid to make some mistakes, and ask other parents for advice . . .”
I trailed off, and thought for a second, about all the other parents I’ve been around since Ryan and Nolan came into my life.
“Don’t try to be your kid’s best friend. It’s the single biggest mistake parents make. Love them, play with them, let them know how much they mean to you, but be their parent. They can make friends, but they can’t make parents. That’s your job.”
I took another drink.
“And one night, you’re going to put your sweet, loving, adorable child to bed, and when she wakes up . . . ”
“She’ll be a teenager.” He said gravely.
“Yep. Teenagers are how the gods punish you for having sex.”
We giggled, then we laughed, then we sat in silence. I thought about all the things we’d done together since we were teenagers, about the ways our lives have changed since then.
“And, for fuck’s sake, don’t let your kid scream in restaurants.”
“I’m way ahead of you on that one.” He said.

That scene replayed itself in my mind on Thursday afternoon when Nolan called me from Anne’s cell phone.
They had a few things to do before they came home, and Nolan was worried about all the homework he needed to do.
“I have a fifty-two word vocabulary test tomorrow, and I have a math challenge,” he said. “But I really want to play Dungeons & Dragons.”
“Time to put on the parent hat.” I thought.
“Well, Nolan, I really want to play, too. But homework comes first. I don’t want you racing through your work to go play with a friend, and I certainly don’t want you to race through your homework to play with me.”
“But when can we play?” He said. “I’m not with you guys this weekend.”
“We’ll play next week,” I said. “I’ll use the weekend to study the DM’s guide even more.”
Secretly, I was more than a little relieved. Among the three of us, I bet I’m the most excited to play, but I don’t feel 100% prepared. I can use a few more hours of study, and a few more simulated battles. I want this game to be awesome for them, so they’ll want to play again.
“Will you help me study for my test?”
“You bet.”
“Okay! Well, I’ll see you when we get home.”
“Okay. Tell your mom to drive safely.”
“I will. I love you.”
Even though he’s twelve, Nolan is quick to tell me he loves me, never shies away from holding my hand when we go places together, and always gives me long, warm hugs goodbye, even when we’re at his school.
“I love you too, Nolan.” I said. I really, really do.
Moments after I hung of the phone, it rang again.
“Wil? It’s Ryan.”
“Hey Ryan. What’s up?”
“Are we still playing D&D tonight?”
“Well . . . ”
“Because I have way too much homework.”
I told him about Nolan’s test, and the ensuing delay of game.
“Oh, that’s a relief.” He said. “Okay, I have to go. See you in a while.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“Love you too,” he said.
I hung up the phone, and sat there, alone at my dining room table. D&D maps and books surrounded me. Ferris and Riley slept at my feet.
“Not bad for a backup QB,” I thought. “I think this kid has some promise.”

If everything goes according to plan, Ryan, Nolan and I will embark on a new and wonderful phase of our lives together this evening. We will grab some root beers, sit at our dining room table, and I will take them on their very first dungeon crawl.
We have spent the last week or so creating characters, discussing the rules, and building excitement for tonight’s adventure. I have been staying up an extra hour or two each night after the kids go to bed, pouring over websites and my core rule books, simulating combats and creating NPCs. I’m pretty nervous, because I’m DMing an adventure for the first time since The Isle of Dread in 6th grade. And back then, I managed to kill everyone in the party pretty quickly, and never got to sit behind the screen again.
(For those of you keeping score at home, that would be about 19 years ago — Holy crap. Ninteen years ago? I’ve really been feeling older lately, and writing that number really put a crick in my neck. When did 31 become old? I know it’s not, but . . . damn.)
Anyhow, last night, Nolan and Anne were in the kitchen cutting his hair. I was at the dining room table reviewing Cleric spells, while I listened to The Two Towers soundtrack. Ryan came out of his room, and sat down across from me.
“Watcha doing?” he said.
“Just refreshing my memory. It’s been –” I paused. “Well, it’s been a really long time since I played ran a campaign, and I want . . . ”
(I want you to think I’m cool. I want to do something special for you. I want to share something with you guys that isn’t sports-related, so your dad can’t take it over and force me out of it.)
“I want to make sure you guys have a good time,” I said. “It’s important to me.”
“I’m so excited!” he said.
“Me too.”
He absentmindedly rolled some d20s I’d scattered across the table.
“Can I roll up an extra character, just for fun?” he said.
“Is your homework finished?”
“Yeah. Everything’s done, and I worked ahead in Biology.”
“Really?”
He nodded.
“Dude. That’s super-responsible. I’m proud of you.”
He smiled. “So can I?
“Sure,” I said. “The dice bags are on my desk.”
He got up, and walked over to my office. My desk, normally buried under computer books and writing journals, is currently coverd with gaming books: GURPS, Mutants and Masterminds, Car Wars, too many Cheapass games to count, and — of course — a stack of D&D books ten feet tall.
“It’s 4d6, right?” he called out.
“Yep, 4d6. And you –”
” — throw away the lowest roll.” we said in unison.
“Ryan, I . . . ”
(I love it when that happens.)
“I have an extra character sheet here that you can use.” I said.
“Okay.”
I went back to my books. A moment later, Ryan returned. Four six-sided dice dropped from his hand and rolled across the table.
“Since you’re the DM, will you watch my rolls?”
“You bet! This is . . . ”
(This is something I’ll remember for the rest of my life.)
“This is really fun.”
He picked up the dice, and threw them: 2 – 4 – 5 – 1
“Eleven?! Oh man!” he said.
“Hey, eleven isn’t a bad roll at all.” I noticed something familiar about the dice. Two of them were black, with red numbers. There was a skull where the one would have been.
“Hey, I have dice just like those in –” my heart stopped. I jumped up, and ran into my office.
There it was, in the cool blue glow of my monitor, atop my Freedom City sourcebook: an open bag of dice. My bag of dice. The black one, with the red pyramid from the Bavarian Illuminati on it. A clear d10, and two brilliant blue d12s sat near its open top. Its drawstring was cast carelessly across the side of the book, dangerously close to my Zen fountain.
Ryan slowly walked into the room.
“Is something wrong?” He said.
“You . . . you touched my dice!” I said. I felt a little woozy.
“Well . . . yeah.” he said.
“No. Ryan, you . . . ”
(You are about to see your stepdad as the old gamer geek he really is. The gamer geek I hope you’ll be one day . . . heh. This is actually kind of cool.)
“You can’t ever touch my dice.” I said, patiently.
“Uhh . . . aren’t they all ‘your dice’?”
“Technically, yes, but these here, in this bag, they’re the ones I’ve played with since I was in high school.”
He furrowed his brow and looked at me for a moment, while I put my dice back into my bag. A white d8 with worn off blue numbers, the clear d10 with white numbers, a green d6 that’s really a poker dice . . .
“When I was younger, these dice . . . ”
(These dice were some of the most important things in my life. Well. I have some perspective now.)
“These dice were a big part of my life.” I said.
I held the bag in my hand and looked at him. For the first time in eight years, I saw some of myself reflected back.
“You know what? It’s not that big a deal. I’d just rather you use some other dice.” I said.
“So do I get to re-roll that eleven since I used . . .” he lowered his head, and spoke in a grave voice: “The Forbidden Dice?” He smiled.
We laughed together.
“Eleven is a good roll, Ryan.” I said.
“I know, but twelve gets me plus one.”
“Okay. You can re-roll. But if you get a lower roll, you have to keep it.”
I tossed him my green bag, and he dug out 4d6.
“Deal.” He said.
We walked back into the dining room and sat back down at the table. Ryan threw 4d6: 2 – 5 – 2 – 1
“Nine?! Oh man!”
“I bet that eleven is looking pretty good now, isn’t it?” I said.
“Shut up.” he laughed.
He collected the dice, held them thoughtfully for a second, and said, “Wil, I’m sorry I used your dice. I just thought that bag was really cool.”
“It’s okay Ryan. Someday . . . ”
(Someday, I’ll give that bag, and all the dice in it, to you.)
“Someday, you’ll have your own dice, and your own dice bag, and you’ll understand.”
He threw 4d6: 6 – 6 – 4 – 4
“Sixteen! Rock!” he threw the goat.
On a 3×5 card, he wrote a one and a six beneath his nine.
“Ryan, I . . .”
(I love you more than you’ll ever know. Thank you for sharing these moments with me.)
“I can’t wait to play with you guys tomorrow night.”

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