Posted at 14h55 on 02 Nov 26

by talowof710

My father taught me poker at age ten with pennies and a straight face, and we played every Sunday until he passed. Last year, on what would have been his eightieth birthday, my brother and I decided to honor him properly. We researched where to go — the Casino Langley pages covered the poker room details we needed — and booked a table for the two of us. We played three hours, told old stories between hands, and I lost every single game, which he'd have found hilarious because Dad always beat me too. My brother bought dinner with his winnings and we agreed to make it an annual tradition. Some traditions deserve to survive a generation. Next year I'm practicing, though statistically the odds of me winning remain as poor as ever. Worth it anyway.