Laura, it's beautiful how you describe that space as having a "heartbeat" fueled by your big Italian family—a sentiment many of us can relate to when thinking about the homes and gatherings that shaped us. It sounds like those lively, Diet Coke-fueled battles between you, your mom, and your aunt, with your grandfather's amused commentary in the background, created an incredibly special blend of competition, laughter, and unwavering love that clearly left an indelible mark.
Laura, wow, did this bring up memories? The only game I play these days is gin rummy. My dad and I could play for hours. I remember him placing the winning card in his fan of cards and then gently taping it down with his free elbow, a grin spreading over his face. I knew right then that I was done. For some reason, losing to my dad didn't hurt. Maybe it was because my dad wasn't the kind of dad who would come outside and play ball with us, so doing anything recreational, even playing gin rummy, was valuable time.
Games with my mom were a different story. Scrabble? Trivial Pursuit? It was more than a game. Winning was everything for my mom. It was mental combat. I hated it. She once asked me rhetorically, "Didn't you know you could have played that letter on the triple word score and spelled...?" I felt like responding with "Well, if I had f*cking known that, wouldn't I have played it?" But I kept my mouth shut. I remember beating her at Scrabble once, and it may have been the last time we played. She was furious at losing.
Games, to this day, except for gin rummy, are something to avoid. Bad juju.
Laura, it's beautiful how you describe that space as having a "heartbeat" fueled by your big Italian family—a sentiment many of us can relate to when thinking about the homes and gatherings that shaped us. It sounds like those lively, Diet Coke-fueled battles between you, your mom, and your aunt, with your grandfather's amused commentary in the background, created an incredibly special blend of competition, laughter, and unwavering love that clearly left an indelible mark.
This has me wrapped up in nostalgia. Thank you for sharing this.
There's more. It is an excerpt from my unpublished book.
Laura, wow, did this bring up memories? The only game I play these days is gin rummy. My dad and I could play for hours. I remember him placing the winning card in his fan of cards and then gently taping it down with his free elbow, a grin spreading over his face. I knew right then that I was done. For some reason, losing to my dad didn't hurt. Maybe it was because my dad wasn't the kind of dad who would come outside and play ball with us, so doing anything recreational, even playing gin rummy, was valuable time.
Games with my mom were a different story. Scrabble? Trivial Pursuit? It was more than a game. Winning was everything for my mom. It was mental combat. I hated it. She once asked me rhetorically, "Didn't you know you could have played that letter on the triple word score and spelled...?" I felt like responding with "Well, if I had f*cking known that, wouldn't I have played it?" But I kept my mouth shut. I remember beating her at Scrabble once, and it may have been the last time we played. She was furious at losing.
Games, to this day, except for gin rummy, are something to avoid. Bad juju.
Thanks for the trip down memory lane.