“We’ll Always Have Alex Trebek”
My Nana was a full-fledged gamer who, thankfully, shared her passion with her own children and grandchildren. At her house, once dinner was over and the dishes cleared, we would head to the hall closet to take out the protective pads for her dining room table, so that we could turn hours into what felt like minutes, shuffling and dealing cards, rolling dice, or moving game pieces around a board. When we were young, we started with Old Maid and Crazy Eights, moved onto War, 500, and Gin, and, then, as we mastered some strategy, we played Poker, Spite and Malice, Cribbage, or my personal favorite, Knock, Knock Bloody Knuckles. When we tired of cards, we rolled the Yahtzee dice, or took out Candyland, Chutes and Ladders, Parcheesi and Monopoly. I still have some official Yahtzee scoresheets with her name on them and every time I see them, I smile.
Nana’s love of gaming didn’t end at her dining room table. Every night, she waited for Chuck Woolery to come onto “Wheel of Fortune.” Even as a twelve year old, I recognized a crush, and Nana had it big time for Chuck Woolery. As an amazing wordsmith and crossword puzzle aficionado, she was a whiz at “Wheel of Fortune.” I always thought she should audition and go on the air, dressed impeccably, smiling and spinning that wheel, effortlessly solving puzzles while Chuck looked on in awe. But that was not Nana’s way. She was content to beat all of the contestants and worship Chuck from the safety of her own living room.
We also watched “Jeopardy,” which aired prior to “Wheel of Fortune.” Nana enjoyed it, but not like I did. To me, both Chuck Woolery and “Wheel of Fortune” were too showy, loud and gimmicky. I preferred “Jeopardy” and it’s host, Alex Trebek. “Jeopardy” was serious, smart and quiet; without any props or women dressed in evening gowns turning letters or standing next to appliances in provocative stances. Alex wore crisp, perfectly tailored suits and enunciated, with an air of authority and professionalism. Any time I answered correctly, I felt taller, smarter, and as though Alex was personally proud of me. While “Wheel of Fortune” was entertaining, “Jeopardy” and Alex were in a world all of their own.
My grandmother found that through playing cards and games, she could build relationships with her children and her grandchildren. My mother did the same and, it was with profound pleasure that I watched her play cribbage a few weeks ago with my daughter, now 28. While playing, they laugh, sing show tunes and bond in a way that is entirely their own. Every parent tries to find common ground with their kids and some way to spend time together that is enjoyable for all. I, too, played with my kids, but, as they got older, their interests laid beyond the dining room table. When my kids were teenagers, like many teens, they were distant, obnoxious, sneaky and, at times, and to their peril, disrespectful. I tried to find ways to connect with each of them and because they were so different, each needed a different approach. My oldest son was the easiest, which probably had more to do with the fact that I was distracted by his siblings, than his actual behavior, but as a first born, rule follower, he was amiable. We found our connection easily through a love of reading and writing and I never worried that he was out of reach.
My middle daughter was a bit tougher; she was fiercely independent, and seems to have inherited certain outspoken traits shared by her mother, but we bonded over a love of fashion and travel. It was easy to get her to spend a day with me the minute I mentioned the mall and lunch. While looking for the perfect Fall boots, we talked, she shared, and I learned to shut up and listen. Or I did my best. She may not have seen it quite that way. Those days were some of my most wonderful times with her.
My youngest son was something different altogether. He was absolutely the toughest to pin down. His favorite place seemed to be anywhere but home. We could never get him to have friends at our house; he was always “Going to Conor’s.” His responses to any basic question posed to him were, “Fine.” “Good.” “Nothing.” and “Leaving.” After explaining something or trying to pass on important information, he oftentimes said, “Wait, what? Mom, get to the point. I honestly stopped listening like ten minutes ago.”
Shortly after he graduated from high school, we moved to a property with a bedroom over the garage, and he asked if he could have that bedroom. Since he was leaving for college, we figured it would be fine; after all, it was only for the times when he was home from school and it might be nice for everyone if he had some space. Not until he came home for his first break did we realize just what this living situation would mean. We never saw the kid. The only times we caught a fleeting glimpse were when he came over to the main house to ask for toilet paper, take keys to a car, or look for food. “Mom, what food do you have?” I said, “Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge.” “Mom, that’s not real food. Isn’t there anything else?” But, like clockwork on weeknights, he came over to sit with me and watch Alex Trebek and “Jeopardy.” Even after he graduated college, while he was living at home and working in NYC, he’d race home from the bus stop to fly into the house to catch it. I’d ask about his job: “Good.” His day: “Fine.” His love life: eye roll. The hunt for the apartment: “Mom, I stopped listening like ten minutes ago. “Jeopardy” is on. Sh! Alex is talking.”
Grinning from ear to ear, full of self satisfaction that someone gets it, I revel in the next thirty minutes of sharing my “Jeopardy” joy. We make small talk about the categories, we laugh at outrageous answers, we celebrate our knowledge, we compete. And then, he’s up from the couch, grabbing some chips from the pantry and as he heads out the door, yells back, “Goodnight. See ya tomorrow. Can you buy some decent food?”
To Alex Trebek, whose steadfast professionalism was a mainstay in our home, thank you for your kindness, for bridging the gap, and for bringing people closer, especially this mom and her elusive third child. And to that third kid, who reached out this week upon hearing of Alex’s death:
"We’ll always have Alex Trebek.”
RIP, Alex. Wherever you are, I hope there are more answers than questions.