Thirteen months and fifty-six articles ago I noted in Treats that there was one chance in seven that the publication of some article in a regular weekly series would land on any given date.  (There were, of course, a lot of caveats to that.  It excludes those days that are tied not to the numerical calendar but to the geometric one.  As long as this series is published on Fridays, it will never fall on Easter or Mother’s Day, nor on any of the holidays relegated to any other specific day of the week.  It also happens that there are other impossibilities thanks to the effects of leap year, but I don’t quite understand what these are.)  Yet I was still surprised a few weeks back when I was writing Home that the publication of this article would land on this date.  November twenty-six probably means very little to most of you, but it happens that on this date in nineteen seventy-six–a year in which it was also on a Friday–I got married.

  One man regards one day above another, another regards every day the same, the apostle tells us in one of his letters.  Then he instructs, Let each be thoroughly convinced in his own mind.  In general, I fall into that second category.  I don’t think much of my birthday, find holidays rather burdensome much of the time, and even forget what day of the week it is unless I keep focused on it.  Yet there is something special about this date, such that even if I don’t realize it is this date, I know the date to be important.

  You could argue that the date is important for me to remember because there will be trouble if I forget it; and certainly my wife earnestly hopes and expects that I will think of some way to make the day special for her.  Yet why does she want that, but to know that I think the day is special, which in turn tells her that she is still special to me?  If what matters to me is only that peace prevail (which is often a significant motivating factor in everyone’s life) then the day becomes a chore, a unique date on which I must remember to do something that will make it appear that the day is special.  This suggests to me that wives who make a fuss over a forgotten anniversary may be working against their own true best interests.  You will increase the probability that the next year’s special day will be remembered, but will have altered the reason for the remembrance.  For my part, though, it is the day itself that has become special, for some completely irrational reason.  (After all, calendars are an artificial means of measuring years and seasons, and the notion that today is somehow the same day as the day on which we were married involves quite a few completely unsupportable assumptions.)  November twenty-sixth matters to me.

  I can tell myself it’s absurd.  Indeed it is absurd.  Yet the date makes a difference.

  From this I wonder whether there truly is anyone for whom no days have any meaning at all.  Perhaps if you did not have a calendar, there would be no way to identify a day; even so, just as my wife and I sometimes recognize the appearance of the trees in the late spring as recalling that look which they displayed when we first started going places together (and knew that we were just good friends), I suspect that without a calendar I would be remembering this time of year, as the harvest has ended and the cold is moving in following the Hunter’s Moon, as the leaves lose what is left of their color and abandon their trees, the time when we were married.  Besides, although there have been years when I gave her something very special, there have been other years when I could not buy her so much as a single rose, a small box of chocolates, or a card.  The day is not less special because we could not afford to celebrate it.

  There is a woman I don’t really know, but who comes up in news of the lives of people I do know fairly regularly.  Her husband died a dozen years ago, in the middle of this month.  For several days she was not at work, even now, so many years later.  She remembers.  This time of year is special for her, too, but not in a good way.  She cannot help but remember the date.  My wife remembers the day her father died; she, though, remembers quite a few dates, so that’s not so surprising.

  Perhaps we are all superstitious, or sentimental, or nostalgic.  It is difficult to put a finger on exactly what it is that makes even the most calendar-challenged among us recognize and in some sense revere at least one particular day somewhere in the year.  It is usually a very personal matter, some event that comes to mind often, but particularly around its own anniversary.

  Probably most of you have seen the character questionnaires that are sometimes used to flesh out the personality of your game persona.  I’ve never used them myself, but I’ve seen a few that were interesting.  It strikes me that this could be a question on such a personality profile.  What one day or time of year always has a significant impact on your character?  What happened at that time, or why does it have this effect on him?  How does he feel at this time?  It would say something not only about the character’s history, but about his emotions, his values, his interests, in short about who he is.

  It would also give him a personal celebration within the game world.  It might be a day of mourning, or a day of rejoicing, or one of quiet contemplation or renewed effort.  It could be treated as having immediate special effects on the character, such as revitalizing him for the coming year.  It could become the centerpiece of character growth and interaction, as the other player characters come better to know and understand their comrade through the revelation of his own joys or pains, and as they share something of their own past with him.

  Finally, such personal holidays add a flavor to the game that makes it the players’ own world.  When this column celebrated its first anniversary, we considered Celebrations, what we celebrated and how.  The list of imaginary Holidays for Imaginary Worlds has moved since then, but is still available.  Such holidays for the world or the nation or the local town add wonderful color to the game.  To add personal observances to the mix enriches play in many ways.

  Next week, something different.

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M. Joseph Young is co-author of Multiverser and Vice President for Development at Valdron Inc.  His many contributions to online literature are indexed for convenience, and he looks forward to discussing these things by e-mail or on our Gaming Outpost forums.