Recently I attended a local Dungeons and Dragons game held at a local coffee shop, courtesy of Totally Social ASD.
The group playing consisted of two Totally Social staff and four younger members, one of whom was the Dungeon Master (DM). The Dungeon Master runs the imaginary world the players participate in; dice, paper, pencils, and sometimes miniature figurines are involved.
I was there as an observer. I’ve played D&D off and on since around 1980 and the game has changed much since. Currently the game stands at 5th Edition—when I started 1st Edition was the up-and-coming thing, so I hail from the Model T period of the game.
Familiar to me still was the game environment, the semi-structured give and take of social interaction between players and the DM. There are rules. There are formalities. There is a set goal in mind. The best it can be described as—and this is the observation of another player, not me—a collective storytelling, a sort of round robin with dice.
D&D enjoyed a hugely popular year at my middle school (1982) and then fell off so suddenly that you’d thought the game had been outlawed overnight. Well, in a sense, it was—it became the preoccupation of socially awkward young males, otherwise known collectively as nerds in my day. I have no idea what term is used now.
But the game survived and so did those young males. Three more editions of D&D appeared, including the disastrous 4th Edition that tried to emulate World of Warcraft, an online game, and failed completely. Fortunately, 5th Edition appeared to save the day and the game is now more popular and easier to get into than ever.
The appeal of the game to people on the spectrum is obvious: it’s the chance to exercise active imaginations, to engage in world-building with like-minded people in a controlled environment with rules. That, and you get to roll dice, slay evil monsters AND take their treasure.
Most of which occurs is face-to-face social interaction through the filter of a game, and this is a good thing for people on the spectrum. For many young autistics it might be their first and remain a primary social outlet. Cooperation, planning, and patience are taught. And it’s a collective experience. You’re all on the same side. There is none of the Team A vs Team B pressure that many autistics frankly dread.
Put bluntly, everybody talks. While the Satanic Panic of the’80s associated D&D with devil worship, and Mazes and Monsters depicted a young Tom Hanks losing his marbles over a fictional role-playing game modelled on D&D, mostly people just talk. They catch up with each other. They review the last session. There’s more idle banter and some joking—there’s always jokes. Sometimes players spend more time purchasing equipment than adventuring. Meanwhile, autistics learn the basics of social interaction, the give-and-take of the face-to-face world without the noise and confusion.
And in between all this an adventure occasionally breaks out.
Mike Minnis is a guest blogger and client. His books can be purchased on Amazon. Visit his website at: www.michaelminnisbooks.com/index.htm
The group playing consisted of two Totally Social staff and four younger members, one of whom was the Dungeon Master (DM). The Dungeon Master runs the imaginary world the players participate in; dice, paper, pencils, and sometimes miniature figurines are involved.
I was there as an observer. I’ve played D&D off and on since around 1980 and the game has changed much since. Currently the game stands at 5th Edition—when I started 1st Edition was the up-and-coming thing, so I hail from the Model T period of the game.
Familiar to me still was the game environment, the semi-structured give and take of social interaction between players and the DM. There are rules. There are formalities. There is a set goal in mind. The best it can be described as—and this is the observation of another player, not me—a collective storytelling, a sort of round robin with dice.
D&D enjoyed a hugely popular year at my middle school (1982) and then fell off so suddenly that you’d thought the game had been outlawed overnight. Well, in a sense, it was—it became the preoccupation of socially awkward young males, otherwise known collectively as nerds in my day. I have no idea what term is used now.
But the game survived and so did those young males. Three more editions of D&D appeared, including the disastrous 4th Edition that tried to emulate World of Warcraft, an online game, and failed completely. Fortunately, 5th Edition appeared to save the day and the game is now more popular and easier to get into than ever.
The appeal of the game to people on the spectrum is obvious: it’s the chance to exercise active imaginations, to engage in world-building with like-minded people in a controlled environment with rules. That, and you get to roll dice, slay evil monsters AND take their treasure.
Most of which occurs is face-to-face social interaction through the filter of a game, and this is a good thing for people on the spectrum. For many young autistics it might be their first and remain a primary social outlet. Cooperation, planning, and patience are taught. And it’s a collective experience. You’re all on the same side. There is none of the Team A vs Team B pressure that many autistics frankly dread.
Put bluntly, everybody talks. While the Satanic Panic of the’80s associated D&D with devil worship, and Mazes and Monsters depicted a young Tom Hanks losing his marbles over a fictional role-playing game modelled on D&D, mostly people just talk. They catch up with each other. They review the last session. There’s more idle banter and some joking—there’s always jokes. Sometimes players spend more time purchasing equipment than adventuring. Meanwhile, autistics learn the basics of social interaction, the give-and-take of the face-to-face world without the noise and confusion.
And in between all this an adventure occasionally breaks out.
Mike Minnis is a guest blogger and client. His books can be purchased on Amazon. Visit his website at: www.michaelminnisbooks.com/index.htm
