A couple of Navy veterans--Ray McDade, left, and my dad--bond over Christmas Bingo.
Friday, December 23, 2011
With two years under our belts on the way to “tradition,” my parents and son and I again supplied the prizes for Christmas Bingo. It’s fun and challenging and surprisingly rewarding to scour stores for prizes that are a) a slight step above the usual and b) a bargain. We took it seriously, and in the end, we were happy with our stuffed Santa bags and eager to see the residents’ reactions.
That lasted until the exact second Bingo began. Dorothy was the first one in, and she was unrecognizably unhappy. She did not want our prizes. At all. She didn’t even say hi. “You don’t have what we need,” she growled, even before she saw what we had. “How do you know what we need? We have been cookie-ed to death! We need underwear and socks!”
I was shocked. I stuttered and told her my feelings were hurt, and that we had tried really hard to pick things people would like. She didn’t let up.
I walked away before I said something outside Christmas-spirit boundaries.
Carson and I went to pick up for the four-ton, three-working-wheels Bingo machine, and in the hallway ran into Ann Lawson, who was trying to push the usual prize cart into the Bingo room. “You don’t need those tonight,” I said sweetly. “We brought prizes for Christmas Bingo.”
Ann threw a fit. She didn’t want our prizes, either. “How would you even know how many to buy?” she shrieked. I looked at my son. “Are you kidding?” I asked Ann. “I am here for Home Bingo every week. I think I know you need 60 prizes.”
She was not appeased. She kept pushing the prize cart. Christmas Bingo no longer seemed very merry.
“Would you like us to pack up our prizes and go home?” I asked her. Because I was seriously 2 seconds from doing just that.
“No,” Ann said. And kept pushing the prize cart.
Back in the Bingo room, Ann and Dorothy were huddled conspiratorially. Dorothy left to complain about us to a staffer.
In the not-furious-with-us department, my parents had become Bingo celebrities. Ray McDade hugged them. David Fox said he loved the attention from all of us. Cal Bush shook their hands, and I introduced them to Faith and Ken Levick.
I passed out Christmas cards to everyone, and when I got to Dorothy I said, “I hope you like our card better than our presents.”
We moved ahead with Bingo. I read back the numbers, and my son elf and mom elf pushed the prize carts, loaded to overflowing with our horrible presents. Thankfully, every other resident was warmly appreciative and openly grateful. Gary C. asked my mom for “one of those cans of pop on the bottom” and was thrilled when he learned the prize was the entire 8-pack. People caught on quickly to the “mystery money” concept—12 envelopes marked with question marks that contained $2, $3 or $4—and started little personal piles of cash. Robert quickly picked a new pair of pajamas, and Royal and Ray were thrilled with giant tubs of Christmas cookies.
Dorothy won only once. Ann won a few times, and my mom reported that Ann said “thank you” each time and seemed kind of—careful!--happy with her 8-pack of Diet Coke.
My dad kept Ray company at a table with George, and every once in a while I’d hear a snippet of Navy talk. Ray had on a navy-blue Navy hat, and my dad told Ray I got him one just like it for Christmas. (Of course, he doesn’t know that, but he did ask for it. And maybe he got it.)
I saw Gary scoot by the window, and my mom and I ran down the hall to catch him and give him his card. And hug him. “I’m going to hug you,” I said, “because you are always nice to me.” And he is. And I did.
It was a long night of Bingo. After the last Blackout, Greg thanked “Sandy and her family” over the microphone. Cal kissed me on the cheek and told me to be sure to thank my parents. Faith hugged me and said she had plans with her son this weekend. We wished Ray a happy birthday (we had taken him a card and big cupcake, since it’s on the 26th) and hugged him goodbye. We told everyone Merry Christmas, and my dad and Carson pushed back the crippled Bingo table.
We were exhausted, and I was drained. I certainly hadn’t expected Dorothy and Ann’s reaction—or their intense level of disgust. But my mom wisely pointed out, as moms tend to do, that everyone else was sweet and happy and grateful. And they were. My heart regrew maybe two sizes.
Then, as we walked out the door, Ann called, “Sandy!” We turned around.
“Even if everyone didn’t appreciate it,” she said. “I certainly did.”
I think my face made an involuntary WTF look.
“Thank you,” we all said back. “Merry Christmas.”
With two years under our belts on the way to “tradition,” my parents and son and I again supplied the prizes for Christmas Bingo. It’s fun and challenging and surprisingly rewarding to scour stores for prizes that are a) a slight step above the usual and b) a bargain. We took it seriously, and in the end, we were happy with our stuffed Santa bags and eager to see the residents’ reactions.
That lasted until the exact second Bingo began. Dorothy was the first one in, and she was unrecognizably unhappy. She did not want our prizes. At all. She didn’t even say hi. “You don’t have what we need,” she growled, even before she saw what we had. “How do you know what we need? We have been cookie-ed to death! We need underwear and socks!”
I was shocked. I stuttered and told her my feelings were hurt, and that we had tried really hard to pick things people would like. She didn’t let up.
I walked away before I said something outside Christmas-spirit boundaries.
Carson and I went to pick up for the four-ton, three-working-wheels Bingo machine, and in the hallway ran into Ann Lawson, who was trying to push the usual prize cart into the Bingo room. “You don’t need those tonight,” I said sweetly. “We brought prizes for Christmas Bingo.”
Ann threw a fit. She didn’t want our prizes, either. “How would you even know how many to buy?” she shrieked. I looked at my son. “Are you kidding?” I asked Ann. “I am here for Home Bingo every week. I think I know you need 60 prizes.”
She was not appeased. She kept pushing the prize cart. Christmas Bingo no longer seemed very merry.
“Would you like us to pack up our prizes and go home?” I asked her. Because I was seriously 2 seconds from doing just that.
“No,” Ann said. And kept pushing the prize cart.
Back in the Bingo room, Ann and Dorothy were huddled conspiratorially. Dorothy left to complain about us to a staffer.
In the not-furious-with-us department, my parents had become Bingo celebrities. Ray McDade hugged them. David Fox said he loved the attention from all of us. Cal Bush shook their hands, and I introduced them to Faith and Ken Levick.
I passed out Christmas cards to everyone, and when I got to Dorothy I said, “I hope you like our card better than our presents.”
We moved ahead with Bingo. I read back the numbers, and my son elf and mom elf pushed the prize carts, loaded to overflowing with our horrible presents. Thankfully, every other resident was warmly appreciative and openly grateful. Gary C. asked my mom for “one of those cans of pop on the bottom” and was thrilled when he learned the prize was the entire 8-pack. People caught on quickly to the “mystery money” concept—12 envelopes marked with question marks that contained $2, $3 or $4—and started little personal piles of cash. Robert quickly picked a new pair of pajamas, and Royal and Ray were thrilled with giant tubs of Christmas cookies.
Dorothy won only once. Ann won a few times, and my mom reported that Ann said “thank you” each time and seemed kind of—careful!--happy with her 8-pack of Diet Coke.
My dad kept Ray company at a table with George, and every once in a while I’d hear a snippet of Navy talk. Ray had on a navy-blue Navy hat, and my dad told Ray I got him one just like it for Christmas. (Of course, he doesn’t know that, but he did ask for it. And maybe he got it.)
I saw Gary scoot by the window, and my mom and I ran down the hall to catch him and give him his card. And hug him. “I’m going to hug you,” I said, “because you are always nice to me.” And he is. And I did.
It was a long night of Bingo. After the last Blackout, Greg thanked “Sandy and her family” over the microphone. Cal kissed me on the cheek and told me to be sure to thank my parents. Faith hugged me and said she had plans with her son this weekend. We wished Ray a happy birthday (we had taken him a card and big cupcake, since it’s on the 26th) and hugged him goodbye. We told everyone Merry Christmas, and my dad and Carson pushed back the crippled Bingo table.
We were exhausted, and I was drained. I certainly hadn’t expected Dorothy and Ann’s reaction—or their intense level of disgust. But my mom wisely pointed out, as moms tend to do, that everyone else was sweet and happy and grateful. And they were. My heart regrew maybe two sizes.
Then, as we walked out the door, Ann called, “Sandy!” We turned around.
“Even if everyone didn’t appreciate it,” she said. “I certainly did.”
I think my face made an involuntary WTF look.
“Thank you,” we all said back. “Merry Christmas.”
Well, WE liked our Bingo prizes, anyway.
RSS Feed