I mentioned before that I am a long-time Magic: the Gathering player. For those who don't know, Magic is a competitive trading card game with a fantasy theme: magic, wizards, angels, vampires, dragons, knights, zombies, et cetera. I've been playing the game since its release in 1993. I've made a lot of friends at local game stores along the way. I don't play nearly as often as I used to, but I still keep up with the latest news about the game by visiting some of the popular sites dedicated to Magic, such as StarCityGames.com, MTG Salvation, and Channel Fireball. Magic is one of many activities which fall under the "gamer" subculture, a culture frequently mocked, parodied or stereotyped (for example, Comic Book Guy).
I am a gamer. Maybe that's one reason why I'm not a big fan of labels, because labels evoke predetermined ideas and judgments people have. I say "gamer," and one person might think, "obsessed fanboy who's fluent in Klingon," or "socially awkward geek who brags about killing the dragon in last night's Dungeons & Dragons session," or "total loser who lives in his mom's basement." Stereotypes have their origin in generalizations. Generalizations can be either accurate or not. Without question, "gamer" has a particular stereotype attached to it.
So here's my problem with labels. I told you I'm a gamer, but what does that label tell you? Not much, except that I apparently play some sort of game or games. And it's probably safe to assume that these are games played almost exclusively by - insert another label here - geeks. But that's about all that label really says. Of course, each person adds her own spin on what a "gamer" is. Usually it's not a positive spin. The mental picture is, of course, the socially inept goofy guys with poor hygiene. Everyone views a label through one's own preconceived notions. Consider the following labels:
Pro-choice
Republican
Christian
Atheist
Vegetarian
Goth
Prep
Feminist
Punk
Environmentalist
These are labels people are given or take upon themselves. The list is random - whatever popped into my head - but each of these labels (along with most other labels) shares the same flaw: not everyone is going to interpret these labels the same way. What we bring to them is usually what we take away from them. The bane of labels is that they lead to miscommunication. The boon of labels is that, in spite of this, they point to a person's context.
Context is defined as, "the set of circumstances or facts that surround a particular event, situation, etc." (Dictionary.com). Context is one's setting or frame of reference. To exist at all is to exist in a particular context. Context is the most important word a person will ever learn vis-à-vis one's education. To understand anything - an event in history, a passage in a work of literature, a line in a speech, the thoughts and values of a person, the reason Meg Ryan faked an orgasm in a diner in When Harry Met Sally - one must understand its context. A person's context influences that person, and helps shape her thoughts, emotions, values and tastes.
I said I'm a gamer. That means my context includes being part of the gaming culture. I've met a lot of people, many of whom I consider friends, through the common interest we share, namely Magic: the Gathering. But gaming is only one part of who I am. My friends were very surprised to find out that I'm an avid sports fan. I had never talked about sports to them, mostly because they aren't interested in it, so why bother? If my context were different and all my friends were sports nuts and not gamers, then I'd talk about sports a lot and they'd be surprised to find out I played Magic. Most people who meet me are surprised when they find out that I used to be an ordained Christian minister, or that I am a martial arts instructor, or that I'm divorced with three kids who live in Colorado with their mother.
Sometimes my context surprises me. A few months ago I read an article about Magic by a guy named Conley Woods. The name sounded awfully familiar to me, so I looked him up. Sure enough, Conley is my dad's grandson. Turns out Conley is rather well-known in Magic: the Gathering circles (like here, here and here). I call Conley my dad's grandson because he is the son of my dad's daughter Debbie, whose mother is my dad's first wife. My dad and his first wife divorced, and at some point Debbie and my dad had a falling out and she disappeared from his life. She re-emerged years later when I was in high school, several years after dad had married my mom. Debbie was living with a guy and they had an infant son together, Conley, along with his baby brother.
Last time I saw Conley, he was two years old, maybe three. Debbie didn't stay in the picture for long. Disagreements and complications which will remain private led to her once again disappearing from my dad's life, taking Conley and his brother with her. It was a hard time for my dad, though he never said much about it. I think he tried to block out the memories. Now, 20 years later or so, I stumble across Conley within the context of one of my favorite games, and the whole thing's surreal. It's just odd. I don't even know how to describe the emotions. I see my dad's features in his face. Conley's the reason I started writing this blog entry in the first place. Something in my context, via my association with the gamer subculture, has caused me to sit back and reflect on the past, and on my dad, and on my life.
Seeing Conley just gave me a sense of perspective, a nearly epiphanic jolt that reminded me of how much time has passed, how quickly the years go by, and how much has happened in that time: not just concerning Conley, but everything within my context. My oldest son is a teenager. If Kim and I were still married, this October would have been our third anniversary. Has it really been that long since I went through the hell of my second marriage ending? Doesn't feel like it's been that long. Had Becka and I stayed together, we would have celebrated our 14th anniversary this past February. "Time flies" is cliché, but what's funny is that it's actually an understatement.
To tie my introspection to the topic of this article, thinking about the complexities of my own context reminds me that I'm not unique in this respect: everyone has a context that's just as complex, and confusing, and confounding. I'm reminded of something I have advocated for a long time: we should be careful not to rush to conclusions about a person. We may not know all the factors (both internal and external) that led to a person's actions. And we don't always know the reasons or true motives behind a given decision. We have a difficult enough time answering the question "Who am I?" for ourselves. How much more difficult then it is to answer that question for someone else.
That point has really hit home for me since accepting the "atheist" label.
— Dead-Logic
Affected by Context
Affected by Context
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