All In

I've played poker with the same fellas since I was in elementary school--the boys from the parish, from the classroom, from the neighborhood. We're in our mid-forties now and it's still the same card games played by the same personalities. This is our one constant in a universe of perpetual change.

At Decker's house when I was in sixth grade we were relegated to the basement. Concrete block walls and cement floor. We sat on tiny metal folding chairs next to a lopsided, rickety card table that should have been tossed but was left for the kids to finish off. As we got a little older, we were allowed upstairs into the kitchen, but never beyond that, until we all moved out of our parents' homes years later and got our own places. That's when we found ourselves in dining rooms, which were a welcome change, until we realized, deep down, when the cards came out, we were still sixth graders. We didn't belong in dining rooms. Those were for a different side of us, the one we gleefully put away once in each other's company.

There is a term for your kin, and there is a term for your pals.  The words friends and family have been used to describe such distinct groups for as long as I can remember. I think a new term is necessary for these boys. Being in their company through four different decades and knowing them as well as I know any human being, neither the words friends nor family adequately describes the relationship anymore. These boys are extensions of me, mirrors of a life.

They each bring something different to the table. Danny plays cards to win. For him the poker game is war. Taking him on in seven black is like playing cards with Vince Lombardi. Stuey comes for the beer, gladly surrendering any and all currency from the pockets of his rumpled plaid jacket just to spend time sipping the holy water with the crew. Dodger comes for the conversation, tossing out philosophical questions throughout the evening, which have the effect of shutting down games for up to an hour as discussion and argument ensue. And Ed comes simply because word went out poker was commencing. Unless there's an overwhelming road block to making the trek, the trek must be made. Why? Because it's our pagan substitute for the sacred rituals of other neighborhoods, those worlds where folks still manage to shake off hangovers and make it to church, whether they feel up to it or not.

There is another calling at work here as well. One the boys don't talk about. It's the ultimate reason they arrive on time, ready to go, faces lit with anticipation. Outside the walls of our poker room each of these gentleman raises children. They spend their week days employed in laboratories, hospitals, courtrooms, offices and retail operations. But at the poker table they shed all that. You can almost see the old cloak of responsibility falling away as they enter and sit down. On some nights you can see thirty five years falling away.

This room is for something unnamed, but something we know well.  We each hold our cards close to the vest. But I've peeked at theirs, and they at mine.