Friday, July 30, 2010
My teenaged son and I have been butting heads the last few days over his summer plans—mainly because I think he should have some. So when it got to be 4 p.m. and he still hadn’t figured out his plan for the day, I automatically grandfathered him into mine: dinner and Bingo.
Naturally, the second we got in the car, his phone came to life. But it was just late enough that I didn’t have time to pick up kids and take them anywhere other than … dinner and Bingo. So we grabbed two of Carson’s best friends, Joey and Mychal, and that’s just where we went.
Carson has come with me to Bingo, but he’s never "worked it," so I gave them all a quick rundown over pizza, and they declared themselves ready.
The boys divided Bingo-confirmation duty, and I assumed the prize cart. They were a little soft-spoken reading back the numbers, and at one point someone loudly complained. But Wesley the Bingo caller stood up for the boys (more than once, as it turned out) and yelled back: "I can hear them just fine, sir."
Joey ended up sitting with Jim, a resident who has trouble seeing his Bingo card, and together they created some cosmic force of extreme luck. Jim won almost every time, and kept wanting to pick out prizes for Joey. I told Jim that Joey couldn’t win prizes, so when we left, Jim just gave Joey all his bounty. No one said he couldn't accept gifts.
Things went very smoothly. The boys were pleasant, the residents were pleasant toward them and we even managed to hand out treats at halftime.
But then I left for two minutes.
Ed had needed a push back to his room, and there were only three Bingo prizes left, so I turned full responsibility over to the boys.
When I got back, loud f-bombs were flying (between residents), and Mychal and Carson were standing, bewildered, in the middle of the shelling waiting for something to hit.
I never did understand the whole story, but apparently, on the last prize, two residents yelled Bingo at the same time. Carson and Mychal both headed to one resident, and someone (from here on, "Sorehead") yelled that there was another Bingo. It could have, should have, stopped there, but Wesley, bless his heart, stood up forcefully for those boys. This much I did hear: "Don’t you ever, EVER, yell at young men who are trying to help you." I like Wesley.
A few residents kept shouting. For a minute there, Wesley stormed out. Dorothy called me over to tell me that the boys had done nothing wrong. Bill said, "It’s just a game, for Pete’s sake," and then offered one of his own prizes to Sorehead. At one point, after Wesley came back, I literally had to stand between him and Sorehead as they exchanged death stares.
At Wesley’s insistence, Sorehead apologized to the boys. The boys were OK. And luckily, Bingo was over. I hugged Carson, Joey and Mychal and told them they had Done A Good Thing. And they had. They were respectful, encouraging and supportive, and wise enough to clam up during that uncomfortable outburst.
And, I’m betting, they just might step up their own plan-making a bit for the rest of the summer.
My teenaged son and I have been butting heads the last few days over his summer plans—mainly because I think he should have some. So when it got to be 4 p.m. and he still hadn’t figured out his plan for the day, I automatically grandfathered him into mine: dinner and Bingo.
Naturally, the second we got in the car, his phone came to life. But it was just late enough that I didn’t have time to pick up kids and take them anywhere other than … dinner and Bingo. So we grabbed two of Carson’s best friends, Joey and Mychal, and that’s just where we went.
Carson has come with me to Bingo, but he’s never "worked it," so I gave them all a quick rundown over pizza, and they declared themselves ready.
The boys divided Bingo-confirmation duty, and I assumed the prize cart. They were a little soft-spoken reading back the numbers, and at one point someone loudly complained. But Wesley the Bingo caller stood up for the boys (more than once, as it turned out) and yelled back: "I can hear them just fine, sir."
Joey ended up sitting with Jim, a resident who has trouble seeing his Bingo card, and together they created some cosmic force of extreme luck. Jim won almost every time, and kept wanting to pick out prizes for Joey. I told Jim that Joey couldn’t win prizes, so when we left, Jim just gave Joey all his bounty. No one said he couldn't accept gifts.
Things went very smoothly. The boys were pleasant, the residents were pleasant toward them and we even managed to hand out treats at halftime.
But then I left for two minutes.
Ed had needed a push back to his room, and there were only three Bingo prizes left, so I turned full responsibility over to the boys.
When I got back, loud f-bombs were flying (between residents), and Mychal and Carson were standing, bewildered, in the middle of the shelling waiting for something to hit.
I never did understand the whole story, but apparently, on the last prize, two residents yelled Bingo at the same time. Carson and Mychal both headed to one resident, and someone (from here on, "Sorehead") yelled that there was another Bingo. It could have, should have, stopped there, but Wesley, bless his heart, stood up forcefully for those boys. This much I did hear: "Don’t you ever, EVER, yell at young men who are trying to help you." I like Wesley.
A few residents kept shouting. For a minute there, Wesley stormed out. Dorothy called me over to tell me that the boys had done nothing wrong. Bill said, "It’s just a game, for Pete’s sake," and then offered one of his own prizes to Sorehead. At one point, after Wesley came back, I literally had to stand between him and Sorehead as they exchanged death stares.
At Wesley’s insistence, Sorehead apologized to the boys. The boys were OK. And luckily, Bingo was over. I hugged Carson, Joey and Mychal and told them they had Done A Good Thing. And they had. They were respectful, encouraging and supportive, and wise enough to clam up during that uncomfortable outburst.
And, I’m betting, they just might step up their own plan-making a bit for the rest of the summer.
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