
When I was 10 years old I owned Dungeons and Dragons, 
it came in a red box with a big red dragon on the cover.

I loved that box and carried it with me to school every
day, I loved it so much, reading the books, thinking
about all the great things I could do with such a game.

It was a great escape from the daily drudgery of
going to school, and gave me great ideas about art and
about creativity; about fantasy worlds and wonderful
far-off lands, swords and sorcerry...

Then one day I was coming home and my parents were mad
at me because I was getting bad grades.  I got the bad
grades because I didn't care about stupid stuff that
they were trying to teach me in the third grade; I
hated my neighbors for trying to beat me up (they
never understood that it was a game of the mind)
and because they were mean and my parents were mad 
and grounded me.

One day, my dad saw on the news about how kids who
played dungeons and dragons killed their parents, and
they tried to ban dungeons and dragons.  My parents
go so scared they believed the news report and stole
my dungeons and dragons, took it to the basement
furnace, and threw it in the fire.

Fucking fascists.

I'll never stop playing.  I love this stuff!

				-locke
