a metaphor

On the phone with my dad the other day, I mentioned how I think someday maybe I'll try to be a writer.

I think about things in metaphors, phrases of speech, and vivid descriptive images. Is that normal?

So, the other day, Wednesday perhaps, my dad happened to buzz me right as I was figuring out a new metaphor for life. A replacement for the box of chocolates idea.

Life, to me, is more---a game of hearts.

Growing up, we always used to play hearts at my grandma's. Allow me to introduce the players:

Player 1: My father, James, the typical musician type, who forgets the rules in between every time we play, gets easily frustrated, and makes satisfying reactions when you do something bad to him.

Player 2: My Unlce Terry. Three words to describe him as a hearts player: quiet, calculating, stealthy.
He is kind and calm during play, but not to be trusted. Not even with a thirty or more year age difference between the players.

Player 3: My sister Alice, a confident and opinionated opponent, with a sturdy head on her shoulders. She'll burn you if she played her hand right, and she won't hesitate to double cross.

Player 4: Me, little Lucy. I was the youngest of the players, but once I learned to shuffle (during boring Easter Sunday the year before when I spent the entire day sitting at the dining room table practicing) my deal became aggressive and lethal, and I take after my uncle in the quiet stealth tactic.

We played altogether, at every family gathering once everyone else retreated to the television or the comfort of their beds. During play we would tell stories, laugh, and raid the fridge for more snacks. I can't remember anything with more fondness---

Allow me to return to my metaphor. Life, is just like this game we used to play. You come in, as you are, and you try to use your skills and abilities to your best advantage. But, you're dealt a random hand. Some rounds, you get the best hand, and you use it to your massive success. Other hands, you're given nothing in particular, and you reap just that, nothing in particular. You just carry on to the next hand, hoping for a change in fortune.

But the tricks are also inherent in the game---I've experienced being dealt the best possible hand, but then having one trick from an opponent ruin it all. It is the worst of blows; setting yourself up for a wonderful, lasting victory, only to release that one hitch in the plan foiled the whole thing. You're left in wonder; how could this possibly have gone wrong?

Yet, there is also the reverse miracle---being given the worst hand, and then without even meaning to, shooting the moon. Have you ever done that? I did....when I was 12.

I hope someday, I will do it again.

At the end of the game, it doesn't even seem to matter whether you blew everyone to smithereens or lost miserably. It's just the joy of having played and spent the time with people you love that seems to stay in your memory.

-lab