Free The Happiest Days of Our Lives by Wil Wheaton Page A

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 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 die…
    “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 used some other dice,” I said.
    “So can I re-roll that eleven since I used…” He lowered his head, and spoke in a grave voice: “The Forbidden Dice?”
    We laughed together.
    “Eleven is a good roll, Ryan.”
    “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 “community” bag.
    “Deal,” he said, as he dug out four dice.
    We walked back into the dining room and sat back down at the table. Ryan threw 2—5—2—1.
    “Nine?! Oh man!”
    “I bet that eleven is looking pretty good now, isn’t it?”
    “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 an index 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.”
    June, 2007
    As much as I want to, I can’t hate dodgeball or the “cool” kids who tormented me throughout the years. Without that influence, I probably wouldn’t have discovered gaming, and no single thing contributes as much to my geekiness or brings me as much joy.
    I still flinch when I hear that hollow pang! of a dodgeball, though. That’s a saving throw I think I’ll always fail.

in which time is well spent…
           Occasionally, an introduction adds nothing to a story. This is one of those times.
    N ot too long ago, while Anne took Ryan to the airport to head back to school, Nolan and I found ourselves in the living room. He sat at the desk and played Warcraft. I sat on the couch, bored with football and contemplating some Xbox.
    “Hey,” I said, “let’s play Frisbee.”
    “Mmmhhhuuhhh,” he said, clicking the mouse and doing whatever it is you do when you play Warcraft.
    “Hey,” I said again. “Nolan!”
    He turned around, still clicking his mouse. “What?”
    “I have a hankerin’ to play Frisbee. Let’s go outside and play.”
    “A hankerin’?”
    “Ah shore dew. Yeehaw!”
    He shook his head. “You are so weird .”
    Weird has recently become Nolan’s go-to word for just about everything. He doesn’t say it unkindly, but it’s a stand-in for lame, gross, uncool, or other expressions of mild disapproval. If I’m too friendly with someone while we’re at the store, it’s weird. When we watched my episode of Criminal Minds together, it was weird to see me being Floyd. When I complimented a little kid on his awesome Darth Vader costume Halloween night, and when I told a mom that dressing her little kids up as Popeye and Olive Oyl was adorable, it was weird.
    “Yeah,” I said. “You’ve mentioned that.”
    We looked at each other. I sensed an opening.
    “Come on, Nolan, we can sit here and have our backs to each other, or we can do something fun together.”
    I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought, I’m not going