This week when visiting with my grandmother 3000 miles across the country, I wasn’t alone. She had other friends present: her weekly Mahjong crew. Every time I make the visit to my grandmother in Philly, there is at least one day her friends are present. This has been going on for years. They don’t gamble for much: There’s 25cent entry fee, bring loads of quarters and it can last you hours. I never thought much of this game, which is similar to Gin Rummy, but with these tiles and Chinese symbols. I took for granted the sound of the domino like cubes being spread across the table. It served as background noise to the Filipino parties and gatherings, different older family members taking their turns at winning. It’s the sound of nostalgia, although my mom never played, it seemed to be preserved for the elder generation: grandparents, great-aunts, great-grandparents.
But what made me appreciate the importance of this game was watching my grandma play with her friends this week. She’s been struggling with dementia for years, walking with a cane, most recently needing people to spoon feed her or else she won’t eat on her own. Yet, in front of a mahjong table the old mahjong queen arises. Her strategies are on point, winning game after game. The music of Barry Manilow played in the background, as she swayed her hands as if conducting an orchestra. Grandma was in the flow. She may forget something she asked me 2 minutes ago, but she was not forgetting the techniques of this communal game that’s been embedded in her bones.
I never learned this game, but as I watched her and her friends, I tried to pick up what I could. How many more moments would I have of this? I should learn. I tried to ask questions to the group, and although they responded, I was lovingly scolded because they said they lost because of talking to me. And so I observed in silence for nearly two hours.
And I couldn’t help but appreciate her friends who show up for her week after week, who keep her company, challenge her memory skills, and simply join together to laugh. This is a friendship aspirational goal I hope to achieve. There may be other groups playing mahjong around the world, or whatever game their culture is obsessed with. Those who live longer fuller lives don’t just have to live in Blue Zones, but must be part of a collective who watch out for each other, still play, sway to the music, and laugh with their competitive edges.
It Only Takes A Smile 