When I was ten years old, my grandma taught how to play Canasta, a card game with the objective of melding seven cards to form "canastas." A canasta can be comprised of seven cards of the same rank, or formed by a combination of natural and wild cards, with no more than three being wild. There are two types of canastas:
Mixed canastas, which have wildcards, are worth 300 points.
Pure canastas, which have no wildcards, are worth 500 points.
I was not very good at the game, but I loved it nonetheless. Most days after school, I would abandon my backpack on the bench in the foyer, and settle in with my grandma for an afternoon of cards. I believed the key to winning a round was to get pure canastas, rather than mixed. And every single game, without fail, ended with my grandma exhausting her cards and tallying her score, leaving me with a full hand and zero points.
What my grandma knew was that in order to win the game, she needed to meld cards of the same rank with wildcards. As an inexperienced player, I was sure that by refusing to use my wildcards and waiting for pure canastas to fall into place, I would have the advantage. And yet, my technique left me unsuccessful. I was unsure of what I was missing, but I kept coming back to play, determined to figure out the secret my grandma knew.
There are two basic ways to approach a situation: the pure way, alone, or the mixed way, with the support of others. From middle school through my freshman year, I elected to take the pure approach. I declined opportunities to form friendships, refused to ask questions or share ideas in class, and constantly struggled to live up to my own expectations. I worried and doubted and scoured the internet for solutions to life's problems. Needless to say, I was unhappy. I did not understand why the cafeteria seemed so big, or why the numbers on the paper did not quite make sense, or why I awoke each morning with butterflies in my stomach. I had not figured out the secret yet.
Tenth grade was a turning point for me; it was the year I chose to use my wildcards. I broke through the walls I had so firmly cemented. I established some of the strongest friendships, spoke up in class, and worked hard to meet my goals. There is still worry and doubt, but I no longer scour the internet for solutions. I have my family, friends, teachers, and so many more supportive people in my life; they are my wildcards.
The secret to Canasta is, one cannot focus solely on forming pure canastas, or the chance of scoring points is slim. To win the game, one must meld cards of the same rank with a wildcard or two. As these melds stack up, so do the points. If one works too hard to earn 500 points from a pure canasta, the likelihood is she'll miss out on two or three mixed canastas. No one is born knowing the secret to Canasta; experience is required to understand how to win the game. Like I learned to play Canasta in time, as I have gotten older, I have realized asking for help is more than okay – it is a necessity. With the help of my wildcards, I am happier, healthier, and more independent than I was with just my own rank, and I have racked up quite an impressive score because of it.
Oh, and I now cream my grandma in every round of Canasta.
