This past summer, while in Kitchener, ON I was browsing through a quaint old Mennonite store that was much like a practical Dollar Store, selling an interesting mix of everything from hats to canning lids. I stopped short as a card game caught my eye, a sense of the past just coming over me in a most peculiar way and bringing back warm reminders of my dad.
My dad was an accountant and playing with numbers was always a game for him. When he played cards with us, as intimidating as it was to play with someone who just knew what was in our hands, he taught us how to think. He showed us how to see the big picture, devise strategies and take risks. He showed us how to eliminate possibilities and taught us tactics in forcing out certain cards. He challenged us enough not to be frustrated at what he could do, but instilled in us a desire to play well.
My dad was an accountant and playing with numbers was always a game for him. When he played cards with us, as intimidating as it was to play with someone who just knew what was in our hands, he taught us how to think. He showed us how to see the big picture, devise strategies and take risks. He showed us how to eliminate possibilities and taught us tactics in forcing out certain cards. He challenged us enough not to be frustrated at what he could do, but instilled in us a desire to play well.
I took the little package in my hand, not having to think twice about this purchase. There was too much to lose, because the memories alone brought back a sense of who he was.
If he'd still be with us, he’d be 79 today - which reminds me, once again, that he was not old when he left us. A number he would have changed, if he could. Or would he now? As all of us have seen, it’s a hand we do not control. What counts are the choices we make before our time is up.
I wonder if I will remember enough of the game to make it enjoyable for his great-grandchildren one day. I hope so.



