I had walked into a room where my father was getting ready to play poker. He was sitting at the head of a long table with five or six men sitting on each side of the table. I had only intended to stay for a minute, but then I decided to play a little poker myself.

I sat down at the table, with my father down at the end on my left. The others told me to deal, so I picked up the deck. I thought they were playing a game called "Texas Flop" (which I had seen played on television), but they said the name of the game was "Seven Card Stud" (even though eight cards were actually dealt out). Each player was dealt five down cards and three up cards.

I dealt out the first cards, picked up my cards and looked at them. A dime was bet and I called. I thought I had a pretty good hand because I had an ace up and an ace in the hole. I thought about raising, but I didn't. A few people folded. I then picked up the deck and slowly dealt the next cards.

I thought my father would be proud of me if I won this hand. The betting began again, and I asked how much was the maximum bet allowed. They said the maximum was a quarter, but I never bet more than a dime.

The dealing and betting continued until we were ready for the last round, when I suddenly realized I had too many cards. I had obviously picked up someone else's hand by mistake. Without the extra cards I had a good hand: two five's and two ace's. But with the extra cards I also had two ten's. I thought about throwing the extra cards away, but I realized that would give me an unfair advantage because I would have seen the other cards. I decided the honorable thing would be to throw my hand in. I hated to do that, because I figured I had the winning hand. Nevertheless, I threw my hand in and folded. Even though I had lost the hand, I figured I had done the honorable thing. 

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