The Table

Rebecca and I drove out to my parents today. The kids have been staying out there, about a two hour drive from our place. We're staying the night and heading back tomorrow. The kids will stay with my mom and dad for one more week, a welcome break in our summer holiday.

As per usual, Dad and I spent some time downstairs playing pool. You see, I was raised on a 5x10 snooker table. Dad bought it years before I was born. Every house we lived in was chosen or built on the ability to house "the table". Our game of choice was snooker, although occasionally we slummed it with 8-ball.

The table has stayed in its current location for approximately the last thirty years. Dad was meticulous when he set it up. For a table almost a hundred years old, it has held its own.

Growing up, when I had girl problems or needed time to think, I would go downstairs and shoot. For anyone familiar with snooker, I would practice the familiar 27 pt order of yellow, green, brown, blue, pink then black. Over and over.

I don't play much any more, but when I come home, I pick up without losing a beat. As corny as it sounds, the table is like a part of me now. I win when i feel good and I lose when I don't.

Dad is over seventy now, so I win quite regularly. He insists that I never let him win, and because he never let me win, I oblige him. We always know where we stand when it comes to the game. He moves around the table slowly nowadays, but he surprises me with a sharp shot quite often. If I had to get poetic about it, I would guess it's the table just letting me know now and then where I stand.