Well, San, I need your attention for a moment here!

"Well San, I need your attention, I really have to discuss something with you." With these serious words, my dear dad, recently in a care home, spoke up. He was having a very lucid afternoon. A dozen thoughts shot through my head. My father never speaks this gravely, you see. Was he about to tell me I had a half brother or sister wandering around somewhere? Or that he had a secret Swiss bank account? Or some big family secret? You always hear about that, don't you, people wanting to confess a thing or two at the end of their lives? Rather nice to stand at those pearly gates with a clear conscience. Seems that way to me, anyway.

"Well San.. My new card playing partner is utterly hopeless at it, it's a real misery. And I'm the one who has to tell her." Huh? I had to shift gears very fast. Thursday afternoon is my father's standing klaverjas afternoon. 4 old fellows with walkers, that caliber, let's say. How proud he was when, right after the first time joining in, he was taken into the regular team. "It went fantastically," he told me, beaming. With his card partner Mr. X, it was a perfect match. But sadly Mr. X recently passed away. How was the card playing supposed to continue now? With just the three of them it proved complicated. But then Mrs. Y appeared on the scene. Well, she was very good at klaverjas, she told them.

"She's truly hopeless at it, doesn't even know which cards to play, we constantly have to advise her. And when she lost, all three of us got an earful," according to dad and his mates. Conclusion: Mrs. Y has to clear off. And very quickly. "What are you afraid of, dad?" I asked him. "Well, she's rather sharp and snippy and keeps picking fights." My dear dad, conflict avoidant his whole life and always one for harmony. Of all people, he's the one who gets to deliver the bad news talk. I hear the tune of "Isn't It Ironic" by Alanis Morissette in my head.

"Well dad, my advice? Whatever you do, don't let her problem become yours. Mrs. Y sold herself extremely well, but unfortunately she can't deliver what she promised or match your high level of play. And so you're parting ways with her. But hope to see you again at the crafts club." "You can say something like that, can't you?" He rather liked that idea. "And what if she gets angry then?" "Then run for it with your walker, dad! Run away very fast." "Oh yes. Good plan, San, thanks, I can work with this." Speaking up, being honest. It remains a thing. Even when you're 85. Shame about that Swiss bank account, though. Apparently it really doesn't exist.