Nine years. That’s how long this game club has been running. We’ve met through snowstorms and summer breaks, homework and holidays, from tiny tables in borrowed rooms to full, buzzing afternoons filled with laughter, dice rolls, and imagination. I’ve watched kids grow up here. I’ve seen shy newcomers bloom into leaders, families connect over cardboard battlefields, and friendships form between people who would never have crossed paths otherwise. And every week, I come back, setting up the pieces, ready to give my all again.
There’s nothing quite like the spark in a child’s eyes when they “get it” for the first time when a rule clicks, when a strategy pays off, or when they invent something wild and wonderful and we all just roll with it. That spark is what keeps me going.
But here’s the hard part.
We are, in many ways, a revolving door. New families join, bringing fresh energy and curiosity. Some stay, and they become part of the club’s heartbeat. Others vanish after a few sessions, often without a word. And while I understand life is busy, interests change, and not every club is the right fit, it’s still tough. Especially when it feels like we’re just another “thing to do” between bowling and swimming seasons.
Sometimes it’s even harder when kids or parents treat the club like a party with free stuff. They show up only for special events and prize days, ask about snacks before learning names, or treat the games like disposable toys. I’ve seen board games bent, boxes left open, or worse, that quiet eye-roll from a teen who’s “too cool” for all this now. There’s a subtle sting in being treated like the warm-up act for “real” activities—the ones with uniforms and trophies.
But this is real.
It’s real when a child with social anxiety asks to teach a game to others and does so. It’s real when siblings build a team together and laugh more than they argue. It’s real when a kid cries because they’re moving away and they’ll miss “game club more than anything.”
We’re not just moving pieces around on a board. We are building connection, teaching empathy, resilience, storytelling, sportsmanship, critical thinking, and joy. And those lessons don’t always come with a medal or a scoreboard. But they last.
To the families who come and stay: thank you. To the ones who come and go: I hope we gave you something to remember. And to those who think this is all “just play”—you’re right. But play is powerful. Play builds community. And in a world so quick to divide and pressure and judge, this club has remained a place to breathe, to laugh, and to imagine.
Nine years in, and I still believe in it.
Even if I have to sweep up the crumbs and re-tape another game box afterward.
We’ll be here. Ready to game.
“We don’t stop playing because we grow old; we grow old because we stop playing.” – George Bernard Shaw
“Growing up is not the problem, forgetting is” – The Aviator from The Little Prince
“Play is often talked about as if it were a relief from serious learning. But for children play is serious learning. Play is really the work of childhood.” – Fred Rodgers
Peter R. Talley 