June 9, 2009
One. Poker Fiction: My Father’s Big Blind Problem
“Are you going to raise my blind every time, son?” My dad would say that every time he saw my face, while playing online poker. He’d say it with his mouth full of our dinner, if he thought I’d hear him. A lot of times I’d close my eyes, though I could still hear him though my ears. The eye closing thing never quite paid off. My father said it over my cradle, before I even knew what the words meant at all: “Are you going to raise my blind every time, son?” He said it to me in sign language at the casino online. He wrote it on notes in my lunchbox. We never even played cards. My dad was horrible at gambling and online poker. He’d lost a lot over the years. By the time I was a teen, each week he got his paycheck and went and stood with it at the poker table, behind all the men who had not made the promise he had, to my mother, about how he’d never play again. “Are you going to raise my blind every time, son?” in my sleeping. “Are you going to raise my blind every time, son?” carved into the paint on the first car I ever got. Sometimes at night I’d come in and find him with play chips at the dinner table, trying to get the stuffed animal to reraise.
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