The Wilson boys: Darren, Rick, Scott, Dad Ken at Scott's wedding, 2008
Not long ago somebody asked me what I missed most about Ken. Well, this gray March late afternoon I'd like to knock off working early, and play a game of gin. My late husband was a great one for games. And fun.
I’d just started junior high when some scowling soul first
told me that marriage wasn’t all fun and games.I can’t remember who it was…it could have been Aunt Violet, whose husband rarely drew a sober breath,
or my home economics teacher who claimed she'd never met a man worth wasting her time on.
Mostly I remember the bitter tone of voice, the
implication that marriage wasn’t all about happily-ever-after. It sounded grim
indeed. At fourteen, I wondered why people kept officially pairing up if
marriage were so burdensome.
In subsequent decades I bet I’ve heard this bad news at
least a thousand times. It’s a dull mantra indeed, guaranteed to dampen enthusiasm
for any anticipated connubial bliss. In fact, just now when I typed “marriage
isn’t all fun and games” into Google, I got nearly three thousand “results.” I scanned some of the references. Wow. It
sure looks like lots of people believe that marriage can make you poorer,
sadder…even fatter. If I click on some of these articles, I read that marriage
is tough, hard work, chock full of painful choices, treacherous compromises,
and heartbreaking disagreements.
My late husband, Ken, wouldn’t have bought it for one minute.
A poker dealer and card room manager, Ken loved nothing more than sitting down
to shuffle a deck. He made it clear at the onset of our relationship that he
expected nothing less in our marriage than fun and games. Especially games.
“You’re going to have to learn to play some board games, and
cards,” he’d said, showing me the shelf where he kept his dominoes, poker chips
and a dozen board games, including Trivial Pursuit, Balderdash and Tripoly.
“I learned Chinese checkers as a kid,” I responded, “and I’m
pretty good at hearts. I used to play cribbage. I don’t know how to play Texas
Hold’em.”
“I’ll teach you,” he promised. Unfortunately, my lessons
didn’t go well. There was something
about those community cards out in the middle of the table that felt alien to
me. I wanted cards that I could clasp close to my chest. And I didn’t
understand the terminology…all about flops, turns and rivers.
“Could we try something else?” I asked one evening. “I can’t
get the hang of bluffing, and I’m no good at betting the odds.”
Ken believed flexibility added to the fun of life. “Well, let’s
try gin. We’ll play for a penny a point and settle up at the end of each
month.”
I learned the rules quickly. I loved everything about the
game and appreciated even the words involved…runs, sequences and sets all
sounded musical to me. So for years at least two or three nights a week we’d
settle down for a gin game or two. Ken tolerated my poor shuffling skills. I
pretended not to notice how he’d smirk as he toted up his monthly winnings.
Then things shifted. I began to win a few games. Ken had
become accustomed to pocketing a few dollars at the close of each month. Now it
was more like a few cents.
Then one month I won, and it was my turn to smirk as I
tucked away a couple of bills.
We continued to play, more evenly matched, until Ken’s final
battle with cancer brought our evening games to a close.
In the nearly three years since my husband died, I frequently think
of our decade together. Sure, there were difficult days, mostly related to his failing
health. But even in his final weeks, Ken found something to joke about,
something to enjoy. He maintained his sunny outlook nearly to the end.
Not fun and games? I don’t agree. Here’s some reasons why. For
me, married life meant having somebody I loved who would:
- Brag
about me on the phone to his friends, no matter how minor my
accomplishments.
- Cook
me special suppers of Swedish meatballs.
- Escort
me to weddings and parties, impeccably attired.
- Leave
love notes and teddy bears on the kitchen counter or the front seat of my
car, and not just on Valentine’s Day or my birthday.
- Inquire
where we should go on vacation next summer and agree with whatever I
suggested, so long as we could get there in fewer than a dozen hours.
- Insist
I put away the dust cloth and settle down to watch reruns of “Gunsmoke.”
- Mix me
a perfect Manhattan,
garnished with two cherries.
- Read
me our daily horoscopes and lucky numbers.
- Email
me a joke each morning so I could start my day with a smile.
- Wink
at me across the table and chortle, “gin.”
“A happy marriage is a
long conversation which always seems too short.” ~Andre Maurois
