My family is not cable-come-lately to the poker table. When Kennedy was in office they played every Friday night at Bernie's house - pennies, nickels and dimes stacked in front of them at Aunt Irene's kitchen table.
It wasn't just poker, but all variety of card games played since they were children.
Eye-level to the table, I saw coins, cards, highballs and scorecards tallied in the careful hand of one of the women. The exotic smell of cigarette smoke tangled with Aunt Irene's perfume and hung at the ceiling.
There was an air of excitement and mystery. Despite my determination, the card shuffling and laughter always outlasted my ability to stay awake.
If I could find the right tone between quiet enough to be ignored and loud enough to be banished to the living room with the other kids, I could be elevated to a lap to "squeeze the cards" - slide them across the table top as they were dealt and place them into the proper place in the parent/aunt/uncle hand.
Thus my initial exposure to ABCs was JQKAs (unless, of course, it was an ace-low game). As the pot grew, chatter stilled and I was transfixed by the mechanical precision of the action moving around the table. I'd stare intently at the hand immediately in front of me, oblivious to its meaning, trying my best to wish it to victory, waiting to hear the owner of the lap pronounce me his or her lucky charm.
Bernie has two much older sisters who doted on him almost as much as his adoring parents -- consequently possessing the most toys of ANY of the cousins. There were Rock Em Sock Em Robots, Creepy Crawlers, Creeple People and Incredible Edibles to delight the junior flock.
Bernie, nine months younger than I, has always been another brother to me. But on card night the toys and kids had no appeal. There was no greater goal then getting a lap position.
Aunt Irene, with her carefully coiffed and laquered almost black hair, ever-present earrings, brilliant lipstick and thoughtfully coordinated outfits, was our, our June Cleaver. But to me then she looked like Jackie Kennedy (and she had a set of Five and Dime pearls to prove it).
When we moved away from the city during the Johnson administration, the games continued but our calendar was no longer anchored on Friday night to Aunt Irene's kitchen.
I was still in college when Aunt Irene died. The 90s took Uncle Leo, Aunt Mary Jane, Uncle Ted and Uncle Barney. We lost Aunt Jeanette and then Uncle Bob since I came back home. My Dad, Mom and Aunt Judy are the last of the Mohn-hicans.
Over the decades, the card game shifted in location and players. Aunt Judy was still hosting my Dad and some of their cousins when my brother picked up the mantle for this generation.
It's a monthly poker game now- none of this couples and highballs stuff. Bottled water is the most popular drink and Aunt Judy steps outside to smoke. Heavy clay chips thud against custom green felt poker tables.
But some things are constant.
Aunt Judy and Dad hold legacy seats and any friend of a friend who joins the game expecting to flex their recently honed poker muscles, learns quickly not to underestimate the one-armed, retired judge or his talkative younger sister. It can be a very expensive mistake.
Charlie joined the game when we visited from Georgia. I believe it factored into his decision to move here.
It was Charlie's turn to host last night. Stacy had to work and Jimbo had a community obligation. None of the "extras" were available.
And thus sat my St. Louis-born husband surrounded by Bernie, my brother, my aunt and my father - the laughter and conversation again ebbing and flowing around the mechanics of the game.
I still can't stay awake until the end. I stopped at the table during a break in play to stay good night - bending over to kiss Bernie on the cheek.
As I stood up I looked around the table, I saw myself briefly in footie pajamas saying good night to the grown-ups.
Once again, everyone at the table was someone whom I love. I stepped to the right and kissed my father, with another step my favorite Aunt, I paused when I got to my "no-mushy stuff" brother, but he got up from his seat with his arms open -- after he checked the cards that had just been dealt.
Aunt Irene would have been proud of him.




Copyright 2007 Judi Griggs