...That This is About Magic?

I dropped out of high school the fall semester of my senior year. At this time, I had a reputation for two things: throwing the biggest party of our class’s history and being the guy who dropped acid at school. I remember being a part of a group of about twenty who ate “special” brownies before school one day during the week of standardized testing. When we got our bathroom break during the testing, the majority of the drugged-out group stood huddled in the middle of the hallway, looking very high. Thinking my actions would improve the situation, I circled the group while spinning and doing the robot. This got a good laugh from everyone around. When you come to school on drugs every day, this is considered normal behavior and no one thinks twice. It’s just that weirdo who likes to dance for attention.

I didn’t show up to high school my freshman year ready to live SLC Punk. I went to church twice a week. I had been accepted to the most prestigious public high school due to my academic achievements and impeccable record from middle school. For a kid raised by parents who made decisions based on the whims of an imaginary man, I was doing pretty well. My father worked for the eye in the sky and there were certain expectations that came with that. I was judged by my ability to meet my potential. When I got a B on my report card, I was grounded, which meant I couldn’t leave the house or have people over. When I missed a Wednesday night youth group meeting, grounded. When I missed Sunday School and only made the worship service on Sundays, grounded. When I came home 15-20 minutes late past my curfew, grounded. I was being taught many life lessons which I didn’t understand at the time.

Struggling to find an identity I could call my own, I turned to Hot Topic jewelry and Kurt Cobain. I had pink and black checkered Vans. I was the most despicable boy. I guess I make fun of these types of people so much today because it represents something I hate about my own past. I had a great group of friends in middle school. We did normal kid stuff. We would go see the newest Harry Potter movie when it came out. We would go to the skate park. In high school, I struggled to connect with a group of people. All of my closest friendships in the past had developed without me doing much work. I would just be myself and I got lucky that some of my peers enjoyed my company. In high school you have to wear certain clothes, listen to certain music and make certain jokes to even be cool in the “uncool” groups.

I’ve spent a lot of time reflecting on this transition. I don’t think I was socially awkward; after all, the attire was just a costume. I think that by my own fault, as well as the guiding hands of others, I was living a life outside of my means. The church my family went to was populated by upper middle class folk. We were lower middle class by a stretch. The high school I went to had the same kind of demographic. I just didn’t understand the difference between a North Face jacket and the one my mom got on clearance from Target. If I had gone to the high school that was determined by where I lived, it is possible I would’ve had a pleasurable experience and would be preaching the word of god right now.

As the superficial efforts to display my teenage angst failed to give me any true escape, it seemed that trying to fit in with people unlike me was the only future I had. I remember going to a youth group meeting at the minister’s house on a Friday night. When it came time to go around the circle and share something, I decided to let it spill that I felt like I had no real friends. After many tears and reassurances that I was welcome to hang out with anyone that was present, it seemed that I had come to terms with my fate.

Very soon after that I found the rabbit hole. With the help of some of my oldest friends with whom I grew up, I stumbled upon the game store Something 2 Do. At this wondrous place, people played a fascinating collectible card game called Magic: The Gathering. I was instantly hooked. The game was complex and fun. There were weekly tournaments which allowed one to be competitive. The cards looked cool, the art was awesome. I had found a new hobby which could keep me occupied indefinitely.

I think that the game alone wouldn’t have been a life-changer. It was the people that really made me want to sing A Whole New World. Josh and Brandy, employees at the store, were like a father and mother to me. They saw me for who I really was, a kid simply wanting to have fun, and they took an interest in me. I was the poor kid who couldn’t buy any actual merchandise and they still helped me out. With my old neighborhood friends playing as well, it was a reunion at the same time.

I had something to be excited about. I had something to look forward to. School didn’t seem so bad once Tuesdays and Fridays were spent in my chosen sanctuary. Quicksilver Amulets became Elvish Pipers which became Sneak Attacks and all of a sudden I had won my first tournament. Cash was the prize. I believe it was sixty dollars. This was big news. I immediately went running up to my dad the next morning to gloat in his face. I had earned money doing something that was fun. I didn’t get paid an allowance. I got $7.50 every time I mowed both lawns.

I guess the word “magic” and the thought of that much money rattled him a bit. The devil’s involvement was suspect. Of course any normal human being couldn’t use the devil as a reason to take away their son’s most beloved past time. My grades were put under review and it seemed that my 3.5 GPA was due to all that time spent up at that hobby store where the girl with blue hair worked. Learning people’s names was not a strong suit of my parents. I think they figured out what Bobby and Tommy looked like after three years of me going to hang out with them every day. But, if I was going to get a full scholarship to college, a 3.5 was not going to cut it. It was at this time that I learned that college was not a forgone conclusion, my parents could not pay for it. I was no longer allowed to play Magic.

This is where I would make a decision that would affect me forever. I could have realized that bullshit was my life and played along. I could have realized that a 3.5 GPA without ever taking a textbook home is pretty good. I could have realized that if I applied myself, I could do literally anything in the academic world. Instead, I decided to burn that motherfucker to the ground.

I, too, have to pick up the story in the next post. I will explain the actions I took, how I got back to the game I loved, what the consequences were, and where everything stands today.