WHATEVER HAPPENED TO…

 I have the honor and privilege of being the halfway point for my good friend’s daughter. Whenever she travels back and forth from University to Home, she stops here for an evening. We provide her a good wholesome dinner, usually pasta, because people her age can still eat all that starch without adding extra body weight, and we talk about, well, whatever comes to mind at the time.

Just a few weeks ago, we followed the normal protocol. She was on her way back to spring semester, or whatever kids are calling it these days, and out of the blue, another friend of ours stopped over for a surprise visit. The more the merrier, unless you’re under Covid restrictions. Four of us sitting at the table to eat? Oh, no! Good thing, I have hazmat suits ready for such awkward moments—CDC regulated of course.

Anyway, after dinner, with our bellies bloated from all the pasta goodness, I said, “Let’s play Euchre.” It’s a four-person card game, and there were four of us. Makes sense, right? 

What some of you may or may not know is that I was born in south east Michigan. And when you’re raised in this part of the country, you come out of the womb playing this card game. Basically, if there’s four people at a party, then there’s a Euchre game going on at some point in the evening. It’s practically a law. So, the traveling college student was raised in the same area as myself, and our surprise visitor lived in the area for, I think, at least a decade.

Again, I need to make this clear. Euchre is serious business for us south east Michiganians. I’m talking hours of fun while my partner shifts in her chair moaning and groaning, usually swearing, at all the ways I never follow game etiquette and play as if I’m the only one on the team. What a blast! Just ask her.

So, on this cold January night, the suggestion of Euchre seems a no brainer—that is until two of my party players announced hesitantly, I don’t know how to play Euchre.

I stared in disbelief. Back and forth, from one set of eyes to the other. Each of them trying not to return the stare. Was that shame in their eyes? How could they not know how to play this most sacred game? I didn’t know how to respond. If I’m not mistaken, I took a shot and pouted in the other room.

My parents made me do a lot of what I thought was stupid growing up. They made me learn how to polka, because our heritage said I was supposed to know how to dance. They made me turn off the television to read. (Ugh, could there be anything worse?) Heck, they even made me say please and thank you, even when I really didn’t mean it.

But even after all that complaining and learning and more complaining, you know what?

I LEARNED HOW TO PLAY EUCHRE!