A House of Cards

I don’t enjoy playing cards. I don’t have a “poker face.” I have never had the slightest desire to be around card playing or card carrying members of the local Canasta or Bridge Club. Playing cards, watching others play cards, being around cards, anything remotely related to cards; well, it’s just not a part of my life.

Until now.

I have spent the last two months abiding by a commitment that my son and I made to each other: to build a new place to live in relationship with each other. We put our stake in the ground, called it honesty, and began pouring the foundation of our new home. In my head, we have been working side by side piecing our relationship together with good solid materials and a whole bunch of reliable tools (that I mentioned in a blog way back in January).

Our house fell on my head last night. No need to worry. I didn’t get hurt.

We built it out of cards.

And, apparently, I was playing solitaire.

My son has that poker face that I can’t seem to find. He knows my “tell,” but I can’t see his. He has been bluffing with a stacked deck, but somehow my eyes weren’t trained for (or willing to recognize) the sleight of hand.

Last night, he put his actual cards on the table, and I folded. My head was aswirl with how I have failed him, how he has failed me, how his father has failed both of us.

But I don’t want to play that game anymore. And I don’t want all the growth the three of us have made in the last several months to get lost in the shuffle.

I woke up this morning and decided that I have to see this as an opportunity for one of the biggest high stakes games of my life. It is the Tournament of Champions, and I am ready to take my place at the table, deal with what I, my son, and his father have been dealt, and ante up. I’m going to gamble on us all winning this tournament by using it as an opportunity to grow.

With one caveat…..

I’m going to make sure the dealer breaks open a fresh deck.