House of Cards

If there was ever a single memory that could exemplify my mother's cruelty and hatred toward men, it would be when my step-father Dennis, gave her a card. Valentine's Day, birthday, Mother's Day, Christmas or anniversary – it didn't matter what the occasion…I don't think her comments could have been any more hurtful.

Most women would be happy just to have their husbands remember any such occasion, ecstatic at their spouse's thoughtfulness. Most men don't really know why women enjoy receiving cards, but all men know they're supposed to buy them. I believe there are only three basic card-choosing personalities. There are those that pick cards with scrutiny, indifference or brazen confidence. All three surround a basic core of knowledge that they'll never find the perfect card.

The Scrutinizer picks one after sorting through every single "For Wife" card in at least three different stores for whatever the occasion might be. For them, an exhaustive search, hopelessly fruitless as it may be, is merely a ritual that must be performed in order to justify their inevitable failure. They can at least rest easy knowing they tried their hardest and, with any luck, at least come close. These men also sincerely believe it's the thought that counts.

The men who choose a card with indifference may or may not believe the thought counts, but that's not why they're indifferent. These men are also likely to be lottery and/or roulette junkies, as they undoubtedly choose cards with the attitude that no one knows a woman better than another woman. In their case, that woman they trust so heavily on is Lady Luck. Choosing a card haphazardly is part blind chance and part caution. These men know, or learned the hard way, to at least open the cad and give it a cursory scan. They're not scanning the prose for perfection, they're merely making sure they do not inadvertently select an inappropriate or offensive card. They hone in on words like "fat" and "old" like a falcon circling the grass below for a scurrying rodent. And it doesn't matter what the context is those words are used in, or if they are part of a much larger word. Better to be safe than sorry, these men take no unnecessary risks. They will throw out cards that say "I want to grow OLD with you" and "I'm InFATuated with you." But what's truly at the heart of the indifferent card-selector is a feeling that he will have a lifetime with this woman and, with any luck, he'll get one right eventually.

The brazenly confident man places all his hopes in his macho façade, of which he is completely aware. He doesn't necessarily have to be a biker or a bodybuilder. In fact, it's usually the love nerds that exhibit this characteristic. .They make claims like, "I know exactly what to get my wife!" while their peers look on with that knowing disbelief coupled with admiration. These men take notes, literal or mental, on the reaction they received from the previous occasions where cards were presented. Some consult horoscopes, other derive mathematical formulas, but the most clever pull the old "I'll buy more than one" trick, though only the very wise know not to give all of them at the same time (multiple cards in one shot paint a very thoughtless picture). These masters know to spread it out so she doesn't get three cards – she gets one card now, one card later and another cleverly hidden (but not too cleverly) in a place she's certain to find it unexpectedly. But not matter how many cards are purchased or how these confident men came to their decision, they have absolute faith they're getting closer.

No matter what category of card man they are, they all know one thing – women love to get cards. It's the neutrino of love, hard to explain in layman's terms, so let's just accept it and move on. But all they're really concerned about is making sure the woman they love gets one.

I'll never know what kind of card man my step-father was, they divorced immediately after I graduated from boot camp. We never were close anyways and my insights in to the male psyche and greeting cards are only recently developed. But on the occasion in question, imagine the most emotionally bland card on the most important day of your life – you still get a card and , unless it is a reused one from last year, I don't think it would warrant chalking the entire day up as a loss.

My mother's reaction was not over the card itself, it is what Dennis added to it…

"I love you all ways."

His fault was in his distracted biological spell checker, missing "all ways" where it was clear he meant "always." Correct in spelling but not in usage. No matter, all I remember is my mother taking the time to appreciate his stupidity, making fun of him. Oh, it wasn't in a playful way, she clearly meant to humiliate him, to ridicule him, and in front of me and his own two children. And I saw the look on his face and the hurt in his eyes. It gets worse.

In an effort to extract himself from her ungrateful claws and redeem the card, he resorted to feigning that it was intentional, that he really loved her in "all ways" possible, which subsequently brought my mother's vicious laugh of incredulity to a higher pitch. I'm sure Dennis felt like an illiterate buffoon and an impotent romantic.

I don't know what lies behind my mother's hatred for men. But I'm certain I know why, after getting married, I loathed the thought of buying cards for my wife and, incidentally, never picked up birthday or holiday cards for my mother. It got to the point where my (ex) wife ended up shopping for her cards on my behalf. I can't even recall signing them.

My mother's birthday is coming up. I can't remember the exact date, I just know it's somewhere close to my son's. I bought her a card from the prison commissary, which is nice because its selection is entirely in the hands of the vendor, abdicating any responsibility on my part. I will send it a few days before the day I suspect is her birthday. She'll get it on or about the target date and that will suffice. I'll limit my words to a select few – the less the better. I will put due diligence in my penmanship (I'll share another memory sometime about my schoolwork when I was in the 2nd grade).

I'll go over the spelling twice.

It's a card from her incarcerated son.

She'll be happy.

It's the thought that counts.