Carson offers the prize cart to Ann Lawson (that's Ray McDade in the foreground).
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
It seems as if Thanksgiving Eve at the Soldiers Home should feel a little more special than usual, so tonight I brought some things to Bingo that I don’t usually bring: 40 orange-frosted “harvest” cookies, two jugs of apple juice—and my son.
All were warmly appreciated.
Carson and I got there early—right off the bat, we were happy to see that no other group had taken over Bingo, and right after that, Billy was very, very happy to see Carson.
“I bet I can guess his height, weight and age,” Billy said.
“Good luck,” I laughed.
Billy took it seriously and circled Carson like a predatory bird.
“Six-foot,” he said. “Six-foot, one.”
OK. So he got that one.
“You’ll never guess his weight,” I said.
“One-sixty,” Billy said.
I wish. “His clothes are bulky,” I said. “You’re 30 pounds over.”
Billy guessed two years too young, too, but he figured he was close enough to call himself a winner.
“Didn’t we bet $5?” he asked.
We laughed and headed to Gary’s room (which has become a wonderful pre-Bingo ritual). Doreen was there, so we gave them each a cookie, and Gary and Carson talked golf.
When we walked into Bingo, we made the rounds from table to table, and Carson shook a lot of hands. Ray McDade gave me a giant hug. David Fox remembered Carson’s name, which impressed him tremendously. Dorothy, Ann Lawson and Ken Levick all remembered him, and everyone was sweet and pleasant. And almost everyone said he was tall.
At one point, Ed called him over.
“Excuse me, young man,” he said to Carson. “You are very good-looking! You must have a handsome dad.”
(Not to make everything about me, but: Hey!)
At the halftime break, we passed out the cookies and juice and told everyone Happy Thanksgiving.
Ken had left during the break, and we’d accidentally skipped over his empty chair. He called me over.
“How come all I got was a straw?” he laughed. We fixed that right away.
After Bingo, Carson was helping Greg pack up the equipment, and Greg said to me, “I need to apologize to you and your son.”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“A long time ago I called your son, ‘Son,’ and George (Wesley) thought I was being defamatory.”
Oh … now I remembered. That was a long, long time ago—July 2010, as a matter of fact (I just checked the blog post from that day)—and while I never really understood what had set off the fracas, I do remember a giant Bingo fracas. Wesley was furious, Carson and his friend were shellshocked and there was a lot of yelling between residents. It was ugly, but— sheez—it also was over. Or maybe just for us.
“You know, Greg,” I said. “I don’t think we ever thought you did anything wrong, but I’m sure Carson would happily shake your hand, accept your ‘apology’ and put the whole thing behind us.”
And he did. And we did. No harm; no foul. Greg’s eyes looked teary. He’d carried that around for a long time.
“Thank you,” he said.
It seems as if Thanksgiving Eve at the Soldiers Home should feel a little more special than usual, so tonight I brought some things to Bingo that I don’t usually bring: 40 orange-frosted “harvest” cookies, two jugs of apple juice—and my son.
All were warmly appreciated.
Carson and I got there early—right off the bat, we were happy to see that no other group had taken over Bingo, and right after that, Billy was very, very happy to see Carson.
“I bet I can guess his height, weight and age,” Billy said.
“Good luck,” I laughed.
Billy took it seriously and circled Carson like a predatory bird.
“Six-foot,” he said. “Six-foot, one.”
OK. So he got that one.
“You’ll never guess his weight,” I said.
“One-sixty,” Billy said.
I wish. “His clothes are bulky,” I said. “You’re 30 pounds over.”
Billy guessed two years too young, too, but he figured he was close enough to call himself a winner.
“Didn’t we bet $5?” he asked.
We laughed and headed to Gary’s room (which has become a wonderful pre-Bingo ritual). Doreen was there, so we gave them each a cookie, and Gary and Carson talked golf.
When we walked into Bingo, we made the rounds from table to table, and Carson shook a lot of hands. Ray McDade gave me a giant hug. David Fox remembered Carson’s name, which impressed him tremendously. Dorothy, Ann Lawson and Ken Levick all remembered him, and everyone was sweet and pleasant. And almost everyone said he was tall.
At one point, Ed called him over.
“Excuse me, young man,” he said to Carson. “You are very good-looking! You must have a handsome dad.”
(Not to make everything about me, but: Hey!)
At the halftime break, we passed out the cookies and juice and told everyone Happy Thanksgiving.
Ken had left during the break, and we’d accidentally skipped over his empty chair. He called me over.
“How come all I got was a straw?” he laughed. We fixed that right away.
After Bingo, Carson was helping Greg pack up the equipment, and Greg said to me, “I need to apologize to you and your son.”
I had no idea what he was talking about.
“A long time ago I called your son, ‘Son,’ and George (Wesley) thought I was being defamatory.”
Oh … now I remembered. That was a long, long time ago—July 2010, as a matter of fact (I just checked the blog post from that day)—and while I never really understood what had set off the fracas, I do remember a giant Bingo fracas. Wesley was furious, Carson and his friend were shellshocked and there was a lot of yelling between residents. It was ugly, but— sheez—it also was over. Or maybe just for us.
“You know, Greg,” I said. “I don’t think we ever thought you did anything wrong, but I’m sure Carson would happily shake your hand, accept your ‘apology’ and put the whole thing behind us.”
And he did. And we did. No harm; no foul. Greg’s eyes looked teary. He’d carried that around for a long time.
“Thank you,” he said.
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