An afternoon never went by that my folks didn’t play 3 rounds of cribbage. They taught brother Bill and me and we played quite often.
When I brought Dave home for the family to meet, he was unfamiliar with the game. This was quickly remedied and my folks happily taught their future son-in-law their beloved cribbage. In fact, for our first Christmas together, my dear parents gifted us with a cribbage board identical to theirs, which we’ve put to good use for the past 33 years.
I was inspired to blog about this unassuming little game board because next month what would have been my dad’s 102nd birthday arrives, and every time I play cribbage or even look at our well-worn board, I think of him.
As a moody, surly teenager I sometimes grew to resent the game. During one such occasion. Dad said, “Let’s have a game,” and I grudgingly acquiesced.
Slouched across the table from Dad, I went through the mechanics, playing the cards, moving my pegs, clearly not enjoying the process. After awhile, Dad looked at me with disappointment and ” You don’t want to play another hand, do you?”
No, I didn’t, and I shot out of the chair making a beeline for my room.
As teenagers get, I wasn’t nearly as rude and disrespectful as some, but that singular moment creeps into my thoughts when I play on this board. I did make sure to apologize, years later, for my rudeness. Turns out Dad had forgotten the entire incident, or so he claimed.
But even now, recalling that moment of surliness, it brings tears to my eyes. I’d do anything to get that moment back and happily play a round of cribbage again with Dad.