In my own defence, the pile of leaves in the wheelbarrow did obscure my view, but there is no escaping it: The first flower I saw this spring was smushed and sticking gamely to that wheelbarrow's lone tire.

The gentle tug of guilt this act inspired is a familiar one at this time of year: My gamer shame kicks into high gear as the sun starts taking back the evenings. It takes hold every time I consider closing the drapes to play — glare is the gamer's constant enemy, right up there with skeletons with swords — and it usually propels me out the door with a book in my back pocket.

So why should I be ashamed of my hobby? Why do my mom and I lower our voices when she wants to tell me about the new level she just finished with her Amazon in Diablo II? Why don’t I tell people at the university where I work that I play videogames? Gamer Shame is a powerful social convention and the gaming industry really isn’t doing a very good job of combating it.

Chris Hussey used to be embarrassed to tell people he adored Dungeons & Dragons and other role-playing games.

"I have overcome the gamer shame," Hussey said with a laugh Saturday outside the Duluth-Superior Game Day convention.