I’ve recently introduced my son, 6, to roleplaying. While we were in quarantine, walking tight circles in our small garden, trampling what was left of the grass into the ground, we talked. And I said something along the lines of “Let’s play a game. I tell the story, you tell me what the main character does. It’s what I do with my friends when we talk on the computer. Let’s start by creating your character.”
My son was doubtful for about two minutes, then he was hooked. He’s been demanding more and more adventures every day, more than I can feasibly make up between working, keeping up with the family, and two children. But that’s another story. This one is about my son becoming something terrifying: A would-be Skaven-player of Warhammer Fantasy.
How did that happen? Well, the other weekend he asked me what my favorite monster was in the now almost daily roleplaying sessions. “Ratling,” I said, “that’s why they are in almost every game I develop or lead.” My son wasn’t convinced and told me he liked skeletons. I said I prefer zombies because I kind of see how they could feasibly function (one of the drags about being an adult: Weaker suspension of disbelief). We agreed to disagree.
Then the kid asked me if I had invented ratlings myself. I told him no, they’ve been around in some form or the other. Skaven from Warhammer for example. I followed up with a short, child-friendly description of what a tabletop-strategy game is. Then I whipped out the phone, googled some images of Skaven armies. “Did you play them?” “No, they were too expensive for me. I had evil elves.” “Can we play this game with my toys? Legos?” “Sure, why do you think there are still mechs left over in the Legos that you inherited from me?” The conversation drifted elsewhere.
Then, while getting ready for bed later, he talked to my wife. She came to me “He’s been talking about saving all his money to buy an army to defeat you with rats?” the mother of my children asked me, knowing full well that this was about some form of nerdery by her men that her normie-brain couldn’t possibly understand. “Fuck,” I thought, this wasn’t going where I had hoped. I gave a her a quick-rundown of what tabletop-strategy games are, then of my youth with hundreds of Marks wasted on the stuff. “I will defeat you with the army you never had, Papa!” my son called from upstairs. “No!” I fathered back, “You are not going to get into Warhammer before you’re at least 13 or 14!” Then to my wife who was standing closer to me: “It’s definetly note made for kids.” “But he wants to save up for it.” “And he can and if he does, he’ll have enough money for a Skaven army by the time he is 14.”
The story doesn’t end there.
The next day, he was in preschool. Quarantine had ended in the meantime. When he came back, he had two Eurocents in his pocket that he didn’t have when he left: He had told his peers about his plan to defeat his father with a ratling army. And one boy had actually pitched a coin he had on him into this quest. My son had started crowd-funding his way to a Warhammer-army.
I never wanted for him to get into what my former roommate and friend Justin calls “plastic crack”. I have created a monster. Should I curate stories of my younger years more? I don’t know but it feels like I succeeded as a nerd and failed as a father. Not good. Oh well. I don’t even know if I still have my dark elves. If so, they must have been gathering dust somewhere at my dad’s place for almost two decades. I’ll have to clean them up. Well. I guess I have eight years to get them into fighting shape.
