A Few Hands of Rummy

The week before Christmas is always hectic. So much to get ready for, so many little errands, the to do list that doesn’t seem to stop. And, part of me struggles with the short days and the long dark and cold nights. There’s a big part of me that just wants to eat comfort food, ingest lots of sugar, and snuggle under a blanket with a mug of tea.

I recently stopped by the nearby youth prison for my weekly visit with a guy. No one has come to see him in the last four years, so I’ve been asked to come and say hi, be his friend, so he can gain some people skills. Soon, he’ll be out in the world, and will need to be able to interact with the world. Spending some time with me is a start in all that.

Once a week, we play cards. He’s teaching me rummy. I’m not sure of the rules, andI think we have our own version of the game going on. He’s the teacher, a new role for him, and he’s starting to enjoy teaching this old man a few things.

The conversation is a little one sided. He’s not used to company and making small talk. He’s struggling with math at school, so keeping score in the game of rummy is good for him. He’s making something in wood shop. He’s keeping it mysterious, so I think its my Christmas present.

I’m getting him a blanket for Christmas, one that features his favorite football team. He mentioned he’d like that a few weeks ago. But, now he’s claiming he can’t remember what he asked me for Christmas. I wouldn’t tell him today. It’s a surprise, a part of the excitement of the season.

Except for what he’s getting from the prison, and a local fraternal organization, no one else is getting him a present.
He said he liked the Christmas card I sent him this week. He mentioned it several times, but not finding the words he wanted to say.

He showed me the card he was making for his grandma. It was sweet, with a little Christmas tree and the ornaments, Charlie Brown style, made from a sheet of copy paper, colored with crayons, and hand blocked letters. He’s sixteen now, but the card had the look of something from an art class a long time ago. Yet, it was something from his sweet heart. I’m hoping I get one, too. It would go on the frig, and I’d show it off to my friends and family.

“My gin rummy buddy gave that to me,” I’d say. “He’s quite a guy.”

We play a few hands, and discover we have an extra Queen of Clubs. He doesn’t know what to do, so we change the rules and play 53 card, five queen rummy. It really is our own game now. We’re just making it up as we go along.

The hour flies by. We’re busy shuffling, dealing, laying down some runs, and adding up our points. He’s beating me, big time. We don’t talk about much. But, we don’t need to. We’re just hanging out, two guys having a good time, playing some cards.

“Are you having a good time?” I ask.

“Oh, this is great,” he says. “Yeah.”

“I’m really glad you come to see me,” he says. “Otherwise, I’d be all alone.”

The other guys here are busy, and the room where we play can get pretty noisy. But, my buddy is zeroed in on our card game, intent on adding up his points, and beating me.

“I’ll see you at the Christmas party next week,” he says. “And, don’t forget my gift.”

I’ll get one from him, too. But, he’s already given me the best present, the simple gift of an hour, a little conversation, and some hands of cards, and his face breaking out into a little smile.

And, maybe that’s the best gift I could ever have for Christmas.

12/23/2015
–Neal Lemery

Defining Success

On Christmas, my wife and I visited one of our young men in prison. Of all my friends, he’s the one who enjoys Christmas the most, especially the anticipation, the expectation, and the promise of a happy time, a brighter tomorrow.

After five and a half years in prison, his spirit is brighter now that it’s ever been. He’s grown in so many ways, and achieved many of his goals. In prison, he’s actually had goals and found ways to achieve them. Before that, life was just survival, slogging through chaos and drugs, of being treated indifferently, without love, and not knowing who he was or where he was headed.

Now, he’s found purpose and meaning. He’s making peace with the demons in his life, and has found the strength and courage to look deep inside of himself, and to finally love himself, and all the possibilities he has in his life.

He wanted socks for Christmas, making sure everyone knew it, too. Now, he’s a wealthy man, Mr. Big in the world of socks. He’s the happy recipient of forty pairs of socks, socks of nearly every size and color. He has socks everywhere now, new socks to try on every day for over a month.

Yes, he had a successful Christmas, all the socks he could ever want. In the telling of his story, his laugh and his big smile light up his face; he knows now that he is loved and respected by so many people. He’s figured out the magic of Christmas, the reason for the season.

He’s successful in so many other ways this year. He’s taken charge of his life, looking deep inside of himself, and taking charge of who he is, and where he is going. He’s embraced his new maturity. He’s taken on his self confidence and is moving ahead. He’s found his courage and is nourishing and loving his soul.

He’s the person Robert Louis Stevenson was writing about when he said,
“That man is successful who has lived well, laughed often, and loved much, who has gained the respect of the intelligent men and the love of children; who has filled his niche and accomplished his task; who leaves the world better than he found it, whether by an improved poppy, a perfect poem, or a rescued soul; who never lacked appreciation of earth’s beauty or failed to express it; who looked for the best in others and gave the best he had.” ~Robert Louis Stevenson

This year, many people I know have taken stock of their lives, summoned their courage, and moved ahead. Their accomplishments are many, and I’ve been applauding their journeys, and marveling at their determination and sacred intentions in their lives. It has been a year of transformation and a year of dramatic and momentous growth. Old demons have been called out of the basement, new directions has been set, and the tough, sweaty and hard work has been done. And, in that work, our communities are stronger, more vibrant, richer in so many ways.

Some people look to Washington politicians to make the big changes they want to see in the world and in their lives. Yet, the real change and the real work is done right here, inside my friends and neighbors, the farmer, the waitress, the young man in prison. The real change makers are right here, and the work is getting done. People are becoming transformed, people making a real difference.

Like my young friend in prison, people are taking inventory of who they are inside, and grasping the power they have to change. And, then, they are stepping out, and doing the hard, gut level work, and moving ahead.

They see the richness in their lives, not by the number of socks they got for Christmas, but in the way they love and are loved.

The Book Giver

“Don’t give me any more books for a while,” my friend said.

We’d been talking about Christmas and his wish list. In the past year, I’d given him about four books to read, books I thought were particularly good for him.

He’s been hard at work taking college classes, and will finish up his associates degree here in a few weeks. Second year college classes have some weighty tomes on their reading list and he’d really prefer a break from academic readings. His bookshelf is groaning with collegiate reading assignments.

I can’t blame him for that reluctance to take on more reading, not the last month of the term. Yet the books I’ve given him are about his passions and the joys he finds in life. His passion is music, and I’ve put several thought provoking treasures in his hands. And, an anthology of “best” American short stories. A little Poe, Hemingway, O. Henry, and Steinbach is good for his young soul, I think.

Books are like that for me, part of the juices that get flowing in me when I get interested in a subject. I want to learn more, and books help me delve into something. Not that I finish every book I pick up. Not hardly.

I’ve been interested in learning more about Islam. And, the book I found about the life of Muhammed and the origins of Islam was pretty interesting. Yet, after about 300 pages, the minutiae of intertribal conflict, theological nuances and socio-economic trends on the Arabian peninsula in the seventh century had started to curb my interest in learning more about the subject. Still, my time was well spent. I didn’t cry when I put the book down and went on to the next in line seeking my attention.

Now, I’m delving into biological, economic, and environmental trends and impacts of the European contact with the Americas, begun by Columbus. I’ve learned about malaria, earthworms, silver, tobacco, and potatoes. The writer has made this potpourri of subjects understandable, and he keeps feeding my curiosity for more.

I’ve never encountered a book store I didn’t enjoy, and I almost always never escape one without at least one book in my hand when I leave. My local library is even a more tempting venue, as the librarian usually chuckles as I haul out an overstuffed grocery sack with even more books to peruse.

Like any self respecting addict of the printed word, I share my passion with others, happily checking off my Christmas list with new found treasures, and some old familiar gems, for my family and friends.

Some folks will groan when they open the tell tale rectangular packages, but, in a few weeks, they tell me how they’re enjoying the book and finding seasonal joy with a good book, a mug of tea, and a comfy chair on a dark, rainy winter’s night.

My young college friend will likely have that same reaction, as I’ve picked a few great short novels and stories for him to savor during his vacation, amid the quiet days before the new year.

12/1/2012