What to Expect at Your First Mahjong Lesson

Here's what happens at your first lesson with me: you show up, I've already set up the table with everything you need, and within the first ten minutes you have tiles in your hands. No lecture, no homework, no pop quiz. By the end of the session you'll understand how the game works and you'll have played through real turns at a real table.

I'm telling you this up front because almost everyone who contacts me about lessons asks some version of the same nervous question: "Do I need to prepare anything?" No. You don't. Let me walk you through exactly how it goes, because I've found that knowing what's coming melts about 90 percent of the jitters.

Before you arrive: I've got it covered

I bring everything, every time. Tile sets, racks, current National Mah Jongg League cards, table covers if we need them, the works. Whether I'm teaching at your dining room table, a community room, a library, or an office break room somewhere in Milwaukee, the table is ready before you sit down.

You do not need to own a mahjong set. You do not need to buy the card. You do not need to have watched a single video or read a single article (though if you've skimmed my beginner's guide, that's a lovely head start, just not required). Some of my favorite students arrived knowing only that mahjong involves "those pretty tiles."

What should you bring? Curiosity. Maybe snacks, if you're hosting a group. Mahjong and snacks have been best friends for a hundred years, and I fully endorse the tradition.

The first ten minutes: hands on tiles

We start by dumping the tiles out and touching them. I mean that literally. Before I explain a single rule, we turn the tiles face up and just look at them together: the dots, the bams, the craks, the winds, the dragons, the flowers, the jokers. I'll point out my favorite trivia (the white dragon is called the "soap" because it looks like a bar of soap, and it moonlights as a zero; people love that one).

There's a reason I do it this way. Mahjong looks intimidating from the outside: 152 tiles, symbols you don't recognize, a card that reads like a spy cipher. Ten minutes of handling the tiles and sorting them into families, and the intimidation just... evaporates. They stop being mysterious and start being game pieces. I learned at my grandmother's elbow, and this is exactly how she started me, too: tiles first, rules second.

The first session, start to finish

Every group is different, but a typical first session with me flows like this:

• Meet the tiles (those first ten minutes above). You'll learn to tell a bam from a crak and find the jokers.
• Meet the card. I hand everyone a current League card and we decode it together. I'll show you the big secret (the colors show suit relationships, not specific suits) and we'll find one or two friendly hands to aim for. We don't tour all 70-ish hands; that way lies madness on day one.
• Build the walls and deal. You'll shuffle ("wash") the tiles, which is the best sound in gaming, build your 19-tile wall, and deal a real hand.
• Play, open-handed. We play with tiles face up on our racks so everyone can see everything and I can narrate: why you might keep this tile, what that discard means, when you could call. Nobody is guessing in the dark.
• A gentle first Charleston. We walk the passing sequence slowly, step by step. Fair warning: the Charleston is where everyone's eyes glaze over the first time, and where it clicks by week two. This is so universal that I consider the glaze a required part of the curriculum.

By the end of session one, you will know what the game is, how a turn works, what the card is for, and, most importantly, you'll have felt the rhythm of actual play. You won't remember everything. You're not supposed to.

No memorization, ever

This is a real teaching philosophy of mine, so let me plant a flag: there is no homework and nothing to memorize. The card sits face-up next to you during every game you will ever play. That's the design of American mahjong. Even players with decades of experience study their card mid-hand. The League prints a new one every spring precisely so that nobody can coast on memory.

Between sessions, if you're itching to do something, I might suggest playing a few practice hands on a free app or rereading a hand type we covered. Suggestions, not assignments. Life is busy and mahjong is supposed to be the fun part.

The three-session arc

Most beginners get comfortable over three sessions, and here's roughly how that arc goes:

• Session one: the shape of the game. Tiles, the card, dealing, basic turns, a walked-through Charleston. Goal: the game makes sense.
• Session two: playing for real. Hands go private (no more open racks), the Charleston gets faster, and we dig into jokers: where they work, the exchange, why they never go in pairs. We start calling discards with intention. Goal: you can play a full hand without me narrating.
• Session three: independence. Scoring and payments, common table rules and etiquette, a little beginner strategy (how to pick a hand from your deal, when calling helps and when it hurts). Goal: you can sit down at any friendly game in Milwaukee and hold your own.

After that, plenty of groups keep me around for a few "coached games" where I float and answer questions, but honestly, my favorite outcome is planned obsolescence: you stop needing me and start hosting your own game nights.

Questions everyone asks (so you don't have to)

Do I need to buy a mahjong set? No. I bring sets to every lesson. If you fall in love with the game (occupational hazard), I'm happy to point you toward a good starter set and where to get the current card, but there's zero rush and zero obligation.

Will I embarrass myself? No, and I want to be extra clear here because this fear keeps more people from learning than the Charleston and the card combined. Everyone at a first lesson is new. Everyone passes the wrong direction once. Everyone forgets which dragon goes with which suit (red with craks, if you're curious; see, now you're ahead). I have taught this game a very long time and I have never once seen anyone actually embarrass themselves. Confusion is not embarrassment; confusion is just what learning feels like for the first hour.

I'm the only one of my friends who's interested. Can I still learn? Yes. I can fold you into a group lesson with other beginners, which is honestly a delightful way to meet people. Groups of friends, coworkers, neighbors, and total strangers all work.

How many people do you teach at once? Mahjong is a four-player game, so groups of four are the sweet spot, but I regularly teach larger gatherings with multiple tables. Check the lessons page for the formats I offer.

Am I too old / too young / too bad at games for this? I have taught teenagers and great-grandmothers, card sharks and people who swear they "aren't game people." The "not game people" often end up the most obsessed. Mahjong has room for everyone. That's rather the point of it.

What if I have to miss a session? We figure it out. This is a hobby, not a semester course. Catching one person up is easy and I do it all the time.

Why I teach it this way

I learned mahjong from my grandmother, at her table, with her narrating her own hand out loud and letting me make every mistake in the book. Nobody handed me a rule sheet. The game came to me the way it's traveled for generations: from China in the 1800s, across the world in the 1920s, through countless kitchens and card tables since, person to person, over tiles.

That's the experience I try to give every student: warm, unhurried, hands-on, zero pressure. The rules are genuinely not hard. They just land better with a person across the table saying "great question. Here, let me show you."

If that sounds like your speed, reach out and let's find a time. Bring your curiosity. I'll bring literally everything else.