Every time I hear Louis Armstrong’s “It’s a Wonderful World” I have this picture of two of my nephews playing crib on my dying father’s chest. What a perfect way to end a life!
My father played crib from the time he was young. Many hours passed for him challenging ship mates while he was in the Canadian Navy during WW II. I remember playing a lot of crib growing up, especially when we were out camping. Then there was the aftermath of hurricane Freda in Vancouver in 1962. There was no electricity so no TV. Dad put in a lot of hours working as a general contractor, repairing damages. The first few days though were often spent playing crib by the fireside, the only source of heat during that cold, rainy October. Our camp lantern lit the room.
Both my kids grew up learning how to play crib although my daughter wasn’t as interested in the game as was my son. When we would go to visit Grandpa it usually took about 10 minutes in the door before the game would begin! As more grandchildren arrived on the scene, they also got taught the game. It was definitely a good way to practice their math at an early age.
When Dad retired and moved down to Arizona during the winters, he found new friends that were ready to spend lazy evenings enjoying the camaraderie during the game. Of course daylight was for golfing!
Even when his health began to fail and he no longer ventured south, his neighbour would come over and join him on the patio for a game of crib. Dad had found a crib board that was the size of a regular coffee table.
As a Baby Boomer I am entering the autumn of my life and it's time to reflect back on what I experienced and enjoyed as I go forward. The challenge was always there for my Dad. I don’t doubt that some part of him was still aware of the game going on, even right at the end and I hope it will be that way for me.
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