One thing many people in Michigan grow up doing is playing games – in particular card games.

Maybe it’s the long cold winters that has instilled this love of sitting down with a deck of cards.

That’s as good of an excuse as any, I suppose.

Fuck if I know.

My Grandma taught me Canasta, which I still love.

My Grandpa Cotter taught me Solitaire and War.

Denise Bennett taught me Euchre (of course, what Michigander doesn’t play Euchre?) and Oh Shit.

And my Dad taught me everything else.

I loved being with my Dad and his (second) family, because it usually included sitting around the dining room table and playing cards.

OMG the good times we had.

My Dad could and would make you laugh until you cried.

Not only was he full of shit right up to his eyeballs, he was also a farty guy – and there is nothing in the world funnier than a fart.

(Sorry, it’s just a fact.)

He was the king of the silent but deadly.

You’d be playing cards, and suddenly a horrific smell would envelop the entire room; and Dad would be sitting there pretending to be all innocent with a “who me?” look on his face.

His line was, “It’s not so much the smell, as the way it makes my eyes burn.”

I am happy to say that card playing in the Cotter family lives on through my sister Karon and her boys.

Whenever I make it home, Kaden will ask to play cards, and pretty soon the whole family is once again gathered around the table and the laughing (and farting – we are, after all, Cotters) can begin.

What smell?