I thought my desire to win at games would diminish with age. It hasn’t. It may have gotten worse – until today.
My wife, Sherry, and I play games of gin rummy to 1,000 points. We face off every day and keep accumulating scores on a big yellow sheet as the week clicks along. When I win (I am regularly victorious), we tear off the yellow sheet and start a fresh game.
Sherry thinks I throw away the old sheets, but I don’t. I tape them to the back wall of my closet. Someday, when I feel a little down, I will invite her to the back of my closet and do a little victory dance. I know it’s not the right thing to do, and I will pay a price. I just can’t help myself.
What makes matters worse is, Sherry will smile across the table and say, “I don’t care if I win or lose. I enjoy the fun of the game and watching you shuffle” (I’ve never gotten the hang of it). For several years, I believed Sherry was using indifferent emotions as a cover-up for her dismal point totals.
Today, my attitude has changed. I think Sherry may have a valid point. Why make a big thing out of a silly game of gin rummy? Why not play for the joyful, warm, loving interaction? I look down at the yellow sheet: Sherry: 942, Don: 93.