My mother eventually learned enough of the game to play in couples' Bridge, but on a scale of 1-10, her enthusiasm for the game never surged past 6, while my dad's is at 11 even at his worst days.
At Friendship Haven, my dad organized the twice-monthly duplicate Bridge tournament that drew 8 tables, entertaining 32 players from the care center and community. In this leadership role, he shared his passion for the game, notified players of their results, and reminded them of the upcoming gatherings.
If you ever meet my dad, he will likely bring up Bridge within the first 15 minutes. My siblings and I roll our eyes at this obsession. None of us glommed onto his love of the game. Still, he never tires of talking about it.
Since my parents have been in my basement (67 days), they've played a few hands of a two-man game they call Honeymoon Bridge. I don't think my mom has the short-term memory to be much of a competitor anymore. I knew my dad was missing the game, and I thought if I could bring it back into his life, it might be a small way to help his displacement feel less lonely.
So a couple of weeks ago I got online and found FunBridge, which offered 50 free deals. I figured if he played one hand a day, he could get to August before we'd have to pay anything.
What I didn't figure was how much I'd enjoy the game.
I sat next to my dad as the computer dealt the first hand. I had to stay nearby to help him use the touch-pad to maneuver the mouse, orient him at the "table," show him where to click to make a bid, how to see the last trick.
FunBridge is set up to teach you how to play, so it provides explanations of moves and terminology. While sitting by my dad's side, I was learning more than I expected to.
When we finished our first game, we could see how we'd performed against other players: 78th out of 100. Not great. But we could also click on other players' games and review their bids and how each trick was played.
This was Duplicate Bridge at its finest. My dad loved it. He grew animated as he explained various choices players had made. I asked a lot of questions, and my dad did a lot of explaining. The ridiculous overflowing terminology has provided ongoing vocabulary lessons.
Each day when I bring down my laptop (the old desktop computer I set up for his email can't handle FunBridge graphics), my dad and I pull up to the table for his deal. The next thing I know, I'm asking him to explain his bid, or I'm arguing for a different bid. I am his headstrong student. He is my patient teacher.
I did not plan to learn Bridge at age 60. I have no one to play with if I ever do achieve a passable degree of competence over "vulnerability," "finesse," "courtesy bids," and "double" (and to emphasize how hard all of this, I will post a definition):
DOUBLE. A call that increases the scoring value of odd tricks or undertricks of an opponent’s bid. A double can be made only over the opponent’s last bid with only passes intervening. Double has many meanings in today’s modern bidding beyond penalty.
I told my sister how much fun I was having learning/playing the game with Dad. "Great," she said. "I just don't want to hear about Bridge in every conversation."
Enough.
Allison
x
At Friendship Haven, my dad organized the twice-monthly duplicate Bridge tournament that drew 8 tables, entertaining 32 players from the care center and community. In this leadership role, he shared his passion for the game, notified players of their results, and reminded them of the upcoming gatherings.
If you ever meet my dad, he will likely bring up Bridge within the first 15 minutes. My siblings and I roll our eyes at this obsession. None of us glommed onto his love of the game. Still, he never tires of talking about it.
Since my parents have been in my basement (67 days), they've played a few hands of a two-man game they call Honeymoon Bridge. I don't think my mom has the short-term memory to be much of a competitor anymore. I knew my dad was missing the game, and I thought if I could bring it back into his life, it might be a small way to help his displacement feel less lonely.
So a couple of weeks ago I got online and found FunBridge, which offered 50 free deals. I figured if he played one hand a day, he could get to August before we'd have to pay anything.
What I didn't figure was how much I'd enjoy the game.
I sat next to my dad as the computer dealt the first hand. I had to stay nearby to help him use the touch-pad to maneuver the mouse, orient him at the "table," show him where to click to make a bid, how to see the last trick.
FunBridge is set up to teach you how to play, so it provides explanations of moves and terminology. While sitting by my dad's side, I was learning more than I expected to.
When we finished our first game, we could see how we'd performed against other players: 78th out of 100. Not great. But we could also click on other players' games and review their bids and how each trick was played.
This was Duplicate Bridge at its finest. My dad loved it. He grew animated as he explained various choices players had made. I asked a lot of questions, and my dad did a lot of explaining. The ridiculous overflowing terminology has provided ongoing vocabulary lessons.
Each day when I bring down my laptop (the old desktop computer I set up for his email can't handle FunBridge graphics), my dad and I pull up to the table for his deal. The next thing I know, I'm asking him to explain his bid, or I'm arguing for a different bid. I am his headstrong student. He is my patient teacher.
I did not plan to learn Bridge at age 60. I have no one to play with if I ever do achieve a passable degree of competence over "vulnerability," "finesse," "courtesy bids," and "double" (and to emphasize how hard all of this, I will post a definition):
DOUBLE. A call that increases the scoring value of odd tricks or undertricks of an opponent’s bid. A double can be made only over the opponent’s last bid with only passes intervening. Double has many meanings in today’s modern bidding beyond penalty.
I told my sister how much fun I was having learning/playing the game with Dad. "Great," she said. "I just don't want to hear about Bridge in every conversation."
Enough.
Allison
x
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Stay well.
Write.
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