In the blood

My grandfather played cards. My uncles Paul, Bobby and Don played cards. Paul wouldn't play with me because I wasn't good enough. My father plays cards and my mother and both of my brothers play cards. My sister doesn't, but she's adopted and apparently doesn't have the gene. I'm talking about playing cards for money. The games have been poker and gin and blackjack. Hold 'em's current popularity is shared by my family. My brother's son, and his two daughters play cards. They're old enough to play for money as long as the stakes aren't too high.

I've played in friendly monthly poker games. I've played gin with my brother for three days straight. I played blackjack in New Mexico's Indian casinos when they were still shacks. Once on a flight to Las Vegas I sat with a man who'd been to the newly opened casinos in Atlantic City. They were so crowded, he said, and the lines to get a seat so long, that when he finally got one, he pissed his pants so as not to risk losing his seat. Later I saw him at a table in Binion's and I sat down and played cards with him. In Laughlin, Nevada I played blackjack next to a woman who, as she got drunker, leaned over to tell me the length of her nipples. That particular information didn't help my game, and as I recall, I lost. I've played video poker in a scary bar on Montana's high-line, and on my computer at home.

My grandfather had a heart attack while he was playing cards. He didn't want to bother the other players so he folded his hand and made his way to the hospital. I don't think he was playing hold 'em. It wasn't as popular then. But if it were me, and I was sitting at a table and felt my heart seizing up, I'd want to hold on and see the flop. It's in the blood, I guess.