Bridging the Gap

Good news: I played my first real game of bridge last week. Bridge ... you know ... the card game...? Hey, I can hear you laughing! Do you think I can’t hear you?

Yes, yes, I play bridge! I took lessons at the local recreation centre, at the persuasion of my friend, Veronica, who retired early from pharmacy and is anxious to keep the old grey cells alive, if you know what I mean. At first, I resisted because I thought bridge was an older person’s game. In fact, my mother plays every week and raves about it. She’s always after me to learn how to play.

Previously, I resisted learning because it seemed complicated and I didn’t have the time (or interest) necessary to concentrate on the rules of the game. Not too long ago, I was playing endless games of “Go Fish” and “Hungry Hippo” with my kids, so my capacity for learning a complicated card game was significantly diminished. More importantly, I didn’t know anyone else who played – except my mother, her best friend and the best friend’s 97-year old mother. Need I say more?

But, I’m in a new place ... an alien place ... and things are different. Lots of people who have not yet collected old age security play. Indeed, lots of middle-aged people play and, whether I like it or not, I somehow became middle-aged. I actually fit the vague demographic category I so smugly scorned as being the right age to play bridge. Besides, it turns out that bridge is popular even among young students at universities in the USA.

Let’s just say that, when Veronica asked if I would take bridge lessons, I’m sorry now to say that I was less than enthusiastic. I may even have laughed. But, she rallied and I joined in. I was a bit late for the first class, so I slid into the only available seat at the card table near the door, beside a tiny, white-haired lady in a wheelchair and across from an older gentlemen with pale wisps of hair that shot out in various directions and thick red suspenders holding up trousers several sizes too large for his shrunken waist. I groaned.

Yes, I groaned, but I shouldn’t have. For they, like the rest of the members of the class, turned out to be intelligent, fun folks, who were looking to learn a social card game. They were ... well ... just like me. Is it not human nature to interact? To seek out similarly-minded people with whom to form networks ... social links? Bridge is ... well ... it’s a bridge over a gap. It’s a bridge that reaches from one person to another. It’s a game played with a partner against another pair.

During the game, it’s quiet as the players count cards and plot moves to earn the most points. But in between games, while cards are being shuffled and dealt, it’s noisy as friends pick up threads and ask about a daughter’s wedding, a son’s graduation, or a recent vacation. It’s a time for partners to make quick eye contact and roll their eyes at the quiet, tight argument that broke out between a husband and wife about an Ace that should or should not have been played. Not my style, but you play against all kinds.

We’re lucky because two of the other women in the class are around the same age as Veronica and me. They are interested in playing regularly with us. They have known each other for years and years. They are smart. They love cards. They love to laugh.

The gap just got smaller.