Mah Jong

One of the benefits of Facebook (tm) is the contact with folks from way back when. I communicate with an old high school friend, Marcy, and it always brings me a smile. Marcy looked 40 when we were 18 -- nice, serious, bespectaled Jewish girl, who went off to one of the SUNY colleges and met a fellow who became a very succesful academic doctor -- pediatric oncologist, I think. Marcy ended up in New Jersey, with 2 daughters, now both in much more prestigious colleges than she and her husband attended (more on that in a moment), and living a more upscale version of the life she had on the South Shore of LI.

When her girls were getting ready to go off to college, Marcy and I chatted about it -- she felt compelled to send them to expensive liberal arts places (I think they go to Smith, or something). I asked Marcy why the SUNY school led to her and her husband's success, but was not good enough for her girls, even though it would save them nearly $100K on yearly tuition (no scholarships at those places unless you're a sought after minority -- like Hispanic). Marcy really didn't know -- she was sort of caught up in what I call "Keeping up with the Ginsbergs." No matter -- her husband will just have to give a few more talks for Big PHarma companies to make the tuition money.

Anyway, Marcy just posted about playing Mah Jong with friends. It cracked me up. To me, that was the province of only "Greatest Generation" women, although I've heard about some of their daughters picking up the baton. It's such a strange game -- my brother in law Dennis long ago noted that no man could ever understand its rules. But Marcy's post kindled my memories...

My mother and her cronies played 2 nights per week, and I think that meant our house hosted a little more frequently than once per month. On "Mah Jong Night" there'd be a big pot of coffe brewed, as well as an assortment of Entenmann's coffee cakes and strudels, and maybe a fruit salad.

I remember all the ladies had Marge Simpson hairdos, and they ALL smoked. Prodigiously. The den where they played was thick with it, and it would waft up to my bedroom as I tried to sleep, causing me top open windows for fresh air. Second hand smoke? During those formative years, I probably inhaled as much toxin as if I was a longshoreman with an endless supply of Marlboros...

It's funny -- my Dad was a militant anti cigarrette man, since the day I was born (he kept his fixes through a professorial looking pipe), but he knew he'd better not mess with Mah Jong Night -- to my mother, that game was sacred.

Mom continued when she moved to Florida. Her condo was filled with Northeastern retirees like her, and they all loved the game. She'd host parties each week, and enjoyed it immensely.

Now, sadly, the game, like baseball to Gehrig after he was diagnosed with his own disease, has passed her by. She lacks the strength to even make coffee for guests, let alone move the chairs around to set up the table. She played awhile at the Club house, but those days are over, as well.

So it's nice to know that another generation of Jewesses is carrying on the tradition. I am quite certain NONE of Marcy's friends smoke, and the food put out is undoubtedly organic, no sugar, no fat, no fun...probably just tasteless granola, I imagine.

And instead of "Arlene --how's Bruce doing at Stony Brook --still dating that shiksa from Patchogue?" the names and colleges reflect the new generation: "Shelly -- is Jason happy he transferred from Emory to Duke -- and how is that lovely Jennifer from Hewlett he is seeing?"

But I'm also sure the cameraderie is as lovely for these ladies as it was for MY mother back in the 60s and 70s on Charles Lane in Wantagh.

Crack! Bam! West! Indeed, an inscrutable game...