The Playroom

Growing up, myself and my brother Daniel had one of the most memorable childhoods anyone could ask for.

The laughs.

The games.

The matching outfits.

The love.

If I had one wish, it would be to relive it all again with him—just one more time.

We were inseparable. Always together.

Always locked into our own little world, whether we were playing, eating, or just chilling.

Our playroom wasn’t just a room—it was our universe.

A space built for imagination, for adventures,

for memories that still live in my heart to this day.

In that room…

I was Luigi, he was Mario.

I was Sonic, he was Knuckles.

I was Leonardo, he was Donatello.

I was player one, he was player two.

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Brothers in Battle and Brothers in Laughter

We competed. We trash-talked. We laughed hard.

“Oh, so you think you gonna win, huh?”

“We’ll see about that!”

We bet on each other. We pushed each other.

We made every minute in that playroom count.

Games we played together? Too many to count.

From Madden 06 to Marvel Nemesis, Lego Batman to

Mortal Kombat, Gears of War 4, 2K, FIFA, Fortnite, Roblox,

Mario Kart, Wii Sports, even Michael Jackson:

The Experience—you name it, we played it.

Every console. Every room. Every corner of the house.

If it was plugged in, we were on it—laughing, yelling, and living life.

That was our thing.

And honestly?

It still is.

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Still Together, Still Us

Now, even though we’re older, not much has changed.

Sometimes we still accidentally match outfits without planning it.

We still hang out, now joined by our younger brother Dallas, for what we call “Game Night.”

Back then it was just me and Daniel, sharing a room and making memories.

Now, it’s all three of us, and we’re still making those memories.

The playroom grew up with us and eventually got passed down to the next generation.

But every time I pass by our old house—or walk through it—I still smell those memories.

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The Flashbacks I’ll Never Forget

I remember…

Chicken nuggets and ravioli.

Getting tucked in at night.

Our mom makes us feel safe.

Her sitting by our side when we were sick.

Doing what only a real mother could do—holding it all together.

To this day, I tell my mom:

“I appreciate everything you did for us. Everything you still do.”

Because life isn’t always easy. Especially not for a mom.

And I’ll never take that for granted.

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If I Had the Chance…

If I ever had the opportunity to go back and live that childhood again—

One more time…

With my brother…

In our room, in our playroom, in our world…

I wouldn’t mind at all.

Because those were the best years of my life.

And I carry them with me—every day.

— David Gillespie

Growing up, I always looked forward to game time with my older brother David.

I also tell my mom I love and appreciate everything you do as a mother.

She has always been there for us more times than I could count.

Now we have game time with my younger brother Dallas, and I look forward to that too.

We played on systems like the GameCube, Nintendo DS, Xbox 360, and the Wii—

But the games that really brought us closer were Wii Sports and The Michael Jackson Experience. David swore he was MJ, always moonwalking and mimicking his moves.

I’d watch him and laugh, but deep down I admired how confident and carefree he was.

Fast forward to now, every Wednesday we would have game night.

And we will play games such as Fortnite, Madden 25, wrestling, and NBA 2k.

We would play games such as Roblox sometimes as well as Uno on the iPhone message games.

That time meant everything to me, and it still does to this day. 

As someone on the autism spectrum, connecting with others hasn’t always been simple for me.

Social cues, body language, and conversations can be overwhelming or confusing.

But with David, none of that mattered. When we played games,

I didn’t have to explain myself. I didn’t feel like I was "different."

The controller in my hands became a bridge between us.

One of my favorite memories was playing Mario Kart together. I’d set a banana peel trap just right, and David would fall for it.

He would slide into last place. He’d say, “Of course you would place that peel there.”

and I’d grin and say, “Hey, it’s all a part of my strategy.”

That moment, that simple exchange—it was more than just a game to me.

It was shared laughter, connection, and feeling fully understood without having to say much.

Those times meant the world because they helped me feel seen and included. - Daniel Gillespie

Here at The Brown Side of Autism, we share stories like these to show that connection doesn’t always need words—it just needs love, patience, and sometimes a banana peel on Rainbow Road when you cross the finish line.