Some of my best childhood memories from Chicago involve helping my mom set up for her weekly mahjong game.
I can still remember the names of the women she played with for decades — friendships built on competition, laughter and ritual.
I would set up the card table in our living room, along with TV trays holding Maxwell House coffee and bowls of bridge mix.
I loved the sound of the tiles clicking and the beauty of their intricate designs, even though I didn’t understand the game.
What I did understand was how much my mother and her friends loved it — especially when someone called “mahjong.”
My mom played mahjong her entire adult life. She was even featured in a documentary in Los Angeles about women who played regularly and the stories they shared.
Although I watched proudly from the sidelines, I never thought I’d play myself.
Mahjong felt like a game for older women, not my generation — we were playing tennis and golf, raising kids, maybe dabbling in bridge.
Looking back, I think the current revival of the game taps into nostalgia and family connection for me.
During COVID-19, I started hearing that my sister — and many of her friends — were playing mahjong.
TV segments began featuring the “mahj” craze, highlighting its resurgence nationwide and its appeal to a new generation of players, men and women alike. Clearly, this was no longer just a pastime for little old ladies.
So I thought, how hard could it be?
I signed up for a series of five lessons at a local bookstore and learned the basics — the tiles, the card, the general flow.
Then came actually playing, and that’s when reality set in.
Mahjong is hard. The complexity of the rules is daunting.
To succeed, you must track which tiles have been played, remember what’s still in play and anticipate what other players might be building.
It’s strategic, more like chess or canasta than I ever imagined.
Mahjong originated in China during the Qing dynasty and surged in popularity in the United States in the 1920s, fueled by fascination with Chinese culture and the beauty of imported sets.
The National Mah Jongg League card — the holy grail — changes annually, keeping the game fresh and maddening.
Add in the Charleston tile exchange — pass right, left, across, blind passes, courtesy passes. Oy! It’s easy to feel overwhelmed.
As a beginner, I wasn’t having fun. I was frustrated.
But I haven’t given up.
I watch videos on Instagram, study the card like I’m back in school and get phone tutorials from my sister. With practice, I can tell it will become more manageable.
Friends who are also new players seem to be getting it faster than I am, which brings back memories of high school geometry — eventually everyone got it, except me. Is my brain just not wired for this?
Mahjong is often touted as a way to maintain cognitive function, something many baby boomers find appealing.
While it’s not exactly relaxing yet, the social aspect is wonderful. I especially appreciate stepping away from screens and into face-to-face connection.
Santa Barbara offers many places to play and learn, and the game’s popularity continues to grow, helped along by media coverage and social media.
Mahjong bridges generations. My adult daughter even wants to try it.
Mostly, it makes me miss my mom. Mahjong and golf were two things she always wanted to share with me.
We never quite got there, but I feel her smiling over my shoulder now, pleased that I’ve finally joined the game.
Golf? That’s another column.
More Judy Foreman
