My parents loved to play bridge. Most Friday evenings they would play with another couple and the sounds would reverberate in by brother and my shared bedroom: “Grace, how could you?” “Arthur, how can you say that?” “Grace … Arthur … Grace” Yes, Grace and Arthur were the ostensibly happily-married couple with whom my parents played. This was fun?
And, across the Bronx, another Friday night card game was taking place: My grandfather’s cherished pinochle game – with a touch or two of schnapps to whet the players’ appetites — and corrode their stomachs. How many trips to Bellevue Hospital ensued following these games?
Years later I have reconnected with a dear childhood friend – Amy – the daughter of Grace and Arthur. When we became reacquainted we caught up on the years we were apart, and reminisced about the many years we and our families shared our lives. When searching for mutual interests – it became rapidly apparent – we loved music, we appreciated art, we devoured books … and we shared a passionate dislike of card games – especially bridge. Wonder why?