The joy of summer vacation lives on with family, friends

By Hillary Rodham Clinton

For me, vacations have always meant pulling out the cards, board games and jigsaw puzzles and getting together with family and friends for long, relaxing days and evenings of game playing. Happily, that tradition is alive and well during this year's vacation on Martha's Vineyard. In our first week here, we have played Scrabble, Boggle and a great word game we learned from the Kennedys called Bartlett's, which challenges you to make up quotations.

When I was a child, games filled my days during the summer break from school. Outdoor games occupied most of my time, but rainy days meant gathering in our den or somebody else's basement for marathon matches of Monopoly or Clue. Four decks of cards were combined for championship bouts of War or Concentration.

But the peak of the summer game season began the moment my father backed the car -- a big old Lincoln that we called "the barge" -- out of the garage in the pre-dawn darkness in early August and we all headed east for our annual summer vacation.

My brothers and I played games we already knew and made up new ones to amuse ourselves on the two-day trip from Chicago to Pennsylvania. Counting the mile markers along the Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania turnpikes became a game. Playing Old Maid, Go Fish or blackjack carried big stakes, as the winner got to lie down alone in the back seat for a while, relegating the two siblings to the floor. My mother used word games like 20 questions, car-license tag or alphabet challenge to divert us from fighting or whining for 30 or 40 minutes -- an eternity of calm for two adults trapped with three rambunctious kids.

When we finally arrived at my father's family cottage on Lake Winola, the serious games began. The game of choice for my grandfather, father, uncles and other male relatives and neighbors was pinochle. The sound of shuffling cards on the front porch began soon after breakfast. As a little girl, I stood by the big card table, watching the men sort their cards and asking to be taught this grown up game.

When I was around 10, my father taught me a related game called Hassenpepper. Once I understood that, I moved on to pinochle and became a player. Just as now, I loved sitting at the table watching the cards being dealt, picking them up one by one, hoping for a "rudle" or "a hundred aces" or, if the pinochle gods were appeased, a 24-point "round house."

I also learned a lot listening to the chatter and kidding and seeing the occasional outburst of anger or frustration at one's luck or stupidity.

Old Pete, a 90-year-old man who lived up the road, would show up about once a week and, leaning on his cane, hobble up the steps to the porch to join our ongoing game or yell for somebody to come play with him. We always made room but knew it was only a matter of time before he started cussing at someone -- usually my father -- over the cards he was dealt. He'd throw them down in disgust and limp off, yelling profanities as he went.

My grandfather, a gently soul who never raised his voice, would shake his head and wonder whether a man who couldn't play games could really enjoy life.

When I met my husband, I discovered a kindred game-playing spirit. I taught him pinochle, a game he loves, he taught me hearts, one I have never liked. Over the years, we have played countless hours of Trivial Pursuit and charades. And when Chelsea came along, we learned a new generation of children's games, like Candyland and Chutes and Ladders, and introduced her to checkers, dominoes, Parcheesi and, of course, pinochle.

For the next two weeks, the three of us have a few hard jigsaw puzzles to put together and many hands of pinochle to play. Each of us will win some, lose some, smack our foreheads with frustration and even yell a bit. And maybe, like my grandfather, we'll learn something about ourselves and life from all our fun and games.

-- Creators Syndicate