Raymond at the official Bingo caller's table
February 2009
The man calling the Bingo numbers reminded me a lot of my father-in-law. He had the same air of authority, the same cutting sense of humor (he calls one not-particularly-jovial volunteer "Smiley") and, I learned later, the same love of technology and gadgets and gizmos.
And with his nice patch of white hair, his fatherly face and his wire-rimmed glasses, he also looked a lot like him.
When he first scootered over to introduce himself, he stuck out his hand.
"I’m Raymond," he said. Which was my father-in-law’s name.
I took this as a sign--I take a lot of things as signs--that I am supposed to be here. It was just the first of dozens.
The man calling the Bingo numbers reminded me a lot of my father-in-law. He had the same air of authority, the same cutting sense of humor (he calls one not-particularly-jovial volunteer "Smiley") and, I learned later, the same love of technology and gadgets and gizmos.
And with his nice patch of white hair, his fatherly face and his wire-rimmed glasses, he also looked a lot like him.
When he first scootered over to introduce himself, he stuck out his hand.
"I’m Raymond," he said. Which was my father-in-law’s name.
I took this as a sign--I take a lot of things as signs--that I am supposed to be here. It was just the first of dozens.
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