The Table

It is 2008.  Ky’s dad has died. 

He had re-connected with Ky just a few years earlier.   My experience of Bill was one of a tender, gentle man who felt deeply toward his children. He was kind to me and without exception, whenever we were in his presence he would wrap me in a bear hug and hold tight.  I felt his gratitude in those hugs; his celebration of the love Ky and I shared, and his acceptance. 

Ky’s relationship as his daughter was one of distance and hurt.  He left his family early on and when they were together for visits the alcohol always blurred the experience.  As I watched her navigate his passing and the reality that their relationship would now, not be more, my heart shared her ache. 

There was a small inheritance.  He was a gentleman with a sense of responsibility, (however misplaced some may have judged it), a commitment to community and a joyful heart.  How could we use this inheritance to honor the essence of dad/Bill? 

Our boys and an old beau of Jan’s had been teaching us poker the past few years.  We loved the game.  So many things about poker intrigued us; the skill, the element of luck, the strategy, the community of the table.  That was it – we would purchase a table in honor of Ky’s dad!  To represent Bill Waddell it must be stately, impressive, well turned out and solid.  Bill was also a woodworker, and we knew he would appreciate fine craftsmanship.  With this is mind we went shopping for a table.

It is 2016.  Ky, Michael, Roo and I played two games last night at the table. 

For eight years we have been gathering around the table.  The participants have come and gone over the years – except the four of us.  We have remained.  The community of the table has an ebb and flow.  It will no doubt expand in the future and quite possibly contract again, but I think the four of us will still continue.  

We are connected.  Of course our love of the game is a piece of that, but our time at the table is more than the game.  We love each other.  We love each other just as we are.  We give each other a break.  We enjoy the best of each other and overlook the worst.  We celebrate the successes of each of us and we grieve the losses.  We laugh.  We laugh some more.  We laugh even more.  One of us (guess who) passes gas and the rest of us scrunch up our noses and accept it. 

We have each had bad behavior at times (poker is a frustrating game) and at those times, the rest of us look down, and overlook.  Sometimes our conversations are heated; we are all passionate in our beliefs.  We either bite our tongue or say what we think.  Both are ok. 

Michael comes to the table with expansive love.  His heart can be felt in every conversation, in every glance, in every decision.  When he looks at me I feel his appreciation and I know he is steadfast in his friendship.  We can count on Michael.  Ky most appreciates how Michael has grown in his skill, ability and mastery of the game.  From the early days when he was timid and tentative; he has developed into a thoughtful opponent, worthy of his second place status in our league this year. 

Often when Roo goes to the bathroom I stand outside the closed door, my face touching it and my eyes large and mouth wide, as if I am growling, but I am silent.  When she opens the door, without fail, she screams and we collapse against each other in a fit of laughter.  Michael and Ky, watching in anticipation, shake their heads as they witness the predictable chaos.

On a rare occasion, with Ky all in and her longevity in jeopardy, we watch as she flings her chair backward, hands on hips, begging for her card.  Success results in an exaggerated fist pump before her hands are on the table dragging her chips home.  Missing the card results in a dejected walk from the table to collect herself, followed quickly by her return, and an offer to deal for us.

The table draws us in, holds us for a few hours, and remains, unchanged until next time.

It is 2016.  I am full of gratitude, and the table honors Bill.