Chased by a Broom

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June 27th, 2018
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When I was a child growing up in Western Pennsylvania, my brothers, sister and I had the unusual opportunity of celebrating Christmas twice a year -- on Dec. 25, the traditional Christmas and on Jan. 7, the Russian Christmas.

My mother loved Christmas and always made it special for my siblings and me. But the Russian Christmas, held at my maternal grandmother's house in Dravosburg, PA., was always special.

Grandma Suznovich had a heavy Croatian accident and a big laugh. She loved vodka, gambling, her children, grandchildren, music, cooking, and life.

She had six children -- my mother, her sisters Anne and Gladys, and three sons, Pete, Adam and Steve. And the tables she spread at Christmas and Thanksgiving with all the food from the Old Country as well as whatever new dishes she could come up with still make my taste buds tingle.

During Russian Christmas, my grandmother would spread straw beneath the table, a tradition that carried over from her native Croatia which is part of Yugoslavia. My siblings always looked forward to the straw because we knew what was going to happen.

After the traditional Christmas dinner, my brothers, sister and I would gather next to the table. Grandma would reach into her purse and take out several handfuls of coils. Then she would say, 'Ready?'

'We're ready, Grandma,' I would respond.

She would throw all the half dollars, quarters, dimes and nickels into the straw and it was free for all as we would dive and scramble for the cash while the adults sipped vodka, wine and roared with laughter.

Grandma's husband Vassi was a carpenter who spent a lot of his time in his woodshed working. He was a hard-working man who was very quiet compared to my grandma. Sometimes he would let me use his drill or electric saw to work on a special project.

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Adam and Steve played the harmonica. We would sit on the back porch of my grandparents' house and listen to them play their favorite songs. Two Gypsy girls who were sisters would sometimes come over from their house and dance to the music. Although Adam and Steve sometimes took them to a nearby tavern for drinks, they remained with my grandmother all their lives and never married.

Both my grandma and my mother loved to gamble. They played poker and Canasta for quarters and sometimes made bets on the horses through a local bookie.

When I was 19, I enrolled at Duquesne University in Pittsburgh, PA. to study journalism. I began playing poker with my fellow students at the dormetory where I was staying.

I thought I was a pretty good poker player and during Christmas break, I returned home and we traveled to grandma's house for the traditional Christmas dinner.

The food was incredible. After the dishes were cleaned up, the adults began playing poker and I took a seat at the table.

I decided to have a little fun. One of the guys at the university had taught me how to check-raise. I waited until I had a good hand and I checked. Grandma came out betting, pushing two quarters into the pot after I had checked. I raised her.

She gave me a puzzled look.

'Vat you do, Boy-Boy?,' she asked, calling me by the affectionate nickname my mother had given me.

'I check-raised you, Grandma,' I said, smiling. 'It's something they do in all the gambling casinos.'

She looked at her cards, then she glared at me.

'Not in my house you don't do dot. That's n----- poker,' she said. She looked wildly around the room, spotted her broom, and chased me out of the house.

That was the first and last time I ever check-raised my grandmother at poker. Good luck. Let the games begin.

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