The Game of Whist

To my Dad on Father’s Day

As with most families there are always ups and downs, and no one is ever going to see eye to eye all the time. I think that it would be reasonable to say that my relationship with my father is no exception. As I grow older, I remember more good than bad (forever the optimist I am), and though our own hurt and sorrow was at times projected onto the other, there’s always been love there. To the dad’s and daughters (and sons) out there, who are experiencing a strain in their relationship, know that if there was once love then it is still present, like the tides, sometimes you just need to wait for it to ebb up over your toes again.

Here are few things I’ve learned from my dad.

Swear Words

I learned my first swear words from my father, though it was not intentional and perhaps the true culprit would be wallpaper. Yes, my father could see patterns no others could, and because of this talent he was the one to put up all the wallpaper, some of the most intricate patterns I’ve seen, as my mother had a strong attraction for the stuff. Natural talent aside, hanging wallpaper will test anyone’s patience and that frustration can elicit a litany of lewd language from the primmest of individuals. There was no censorship when it came to wallpaper, and soon I realized that ‘fudge’ was not really what I thought it was.

Mad Card Skills

My affinity for card games comes from my dad, and my shuffling skills were honed at a young age. Ever see a 5-year-old do the Riffle Shuffle with a deck of cards…because I could, and I learned that from my dad. Perhaps the greatest card skill I learned from my father came when we played (more like decimated) my mother and brother in Whist . This is a team card game and you play cards in the hopes it helps your teammate out. We would talk of cavemen and their ‘clubs’, how ‘Heart’ had a new song on the radio or how there’s a shovel that has a tapered end…what was that called oh yes a ‘Spade’. To this day regardless of the game, if I’m playing cards Dad is always with me.

Work Ethic

My dad worked, and I’m not talking about just doing a nine to five job, no my dad worked and he also could make anything work. Both my parents grew up in families were money was tight, and they wanted better for their children, so my dad worked. We moved into a town that had an outstanding public-school system but with good schools comes high costs. Dad would go to his full-time job early in the morning, then stop by the house pick up something to eat only to head out to his second job, at times working a third job on Saturdays. In order to move into the town where I grew up meant that our house was by no means a new build. Inevitably there were repairs or new projects to be done and a yard to take care of. There was a time when all four of us had cars (all well used and at least two of them could be referred to as old beaters) and one of them was always broken down. This meant for at least a solid year (I kid you not), on my dad’s one day off he would be under a car, in the garage fixing one thing or another. He had no formal education in this area, but like the wallpaper he had a natural ability when it came to mechanics, and his confidence in his abilities allowed him to learn as he went, he could take a part a car and put it back together, which nearly happened a few times.

Keep Believing

My Dad and I are without a doubt the dreamers in our family. No matter how many times things didn’t work out, we kept believing. We were treasure hunters together, well it was treasure to me, to a grown-up it would be fishing lures. We’d spend hours out there with our snorkel masks on, following the rays of sunlight penetrating through the water looking for anything that shimmered back at us. Often times when we were trudging out of the water our hands would be empty but our soul were full, it was the chase, it was the search, it was the hunt that was the real treasure. The enjoyment of the hunt has stayed with me even now, believing in the treasure, believing in the possibility, in the dream, all while knowing that the true enjoyment comes from the journey itself.

Let Go of the Hurt

There were several years where I was angry with my father, and that anger very nearly destroyed our relationship. In truth, I was more hurt than anything but at that point in my life, being hurt was being weak, and anger was a much stronger armor. I wanted him to hurt, and I knew one thing that he truly valued that I could take away, my love. I pulled away, became short lipped, despondent, rude and obnoxious, for years, and do you know what my dad did, he took it. He took it all. As time moved on, as we both changed, as the reasons for the hurt blurred, as my perceptions changed and memories of good times eclipsed the bad, the hostility lessened. I knew he would always be there for me, no matter what, and I knew that he loved me even when I was hell bent on tearing us apart, so when I was finally done hurting, when I was finally done blaming he was still standing there waiting for me. He taught me, that when you really love someone who’s hurting, you’ve got to stay with love, you’ve got to let them process their hurt and hope that they’ll stop spinning themselves out. When they’ve finally tired out, when their pain has subsided, when they start remembering all the love that was there, you’ve got to let go of your hurt. Hurt will only bring more hurt, while love will bring love.

Dad, because of you I know: dreaming is not just for children, that in order to enjoy the treasure you’ve got to enjoy the hunt, there’s joy in a beautiful Riffle Shuffle, the best teammates have a secret language, there’s pride in doing something yourself, being a hard worker is respectable, that wallpapering is something I will do only in the absence of virgin ears and finally when there is hurt between two people who love each other, when the one that’s hurting comes back to love you let your love lead and the hurt will fade.

I love you Dad, Happy Father’s Day.

Elizabeth SimmonsJune 21, 20201 Comment