Today I went to play bingo. I have enjoyed playing bingo for years. I first started going with my mother when I was a pre-teen. We went to St James School, which had a bingo game every Friday night in the school gym. Back then, you played 20 games for a prize of $20 per game. We only spent a couple of bucks to play bingo and have a night out. It was a big deal then to win $20, even for my mother. Volunteers –mostly parents, who had kids going to the school, manned the weekly bingo game at St James. Me and my brother and sisters went to St James, but I never remembered my mother volunteering for bingo. She liked to play bingo, and win, and eat pizza. We both did. There were some wonderful Old Italian women who baked pizzas in a tiny kitchen in the back of the school gym. I remember it was always so hot and steamy back there, but smelled so good. Everybody liked St James pizza – not only did you get a slice or two while you played bingo, people placed orders for take-out, and would line up after bingo to collect their pies to bring home to their husbands. I don’t remember very many men playing bingo back then. I remember really loving to go and play bingo with my mother. We would walk over from our house a few blocks away, and I would carry the “bingo bag”. Our supplies were in that bag. Back then, you used magnetic chips to mark your cards and we had these plastic wands that would magically scoop up the chips after each game. We also had scotch tape (a particular kind too – not any old scotch tape would do). And we had dabbers to use on the last game of the night. These are just like they are today – plastic containers of colored ink with foam pads on the top. When the number was called, you would “dab” the number. Some people would use crayons, but my mother and I were cool. We each had several different color dabbers, and we would line them up in front of our spot for all to see that we were serious bingo players. And like some of the other ladies, we had good luck charms. We would also display our good luck charms, and rub them for luck. My grandmother also loved to play bingo, and she introduced me to glue sticks. I have fond memories of gluing my cards together with these really glue sticks. If my mother didn’t want to go to bingo, I could always go with my grandmother. She went almost every night of the week. I would go over to her house across town, and we would go to exotic places like the Hibernian Hall, the VFW Post, or the Knights of Columbus to get our bingo fix. I never knew these civic organizations did anything else but play bingo until years later. My grandmother always walked to bingo, until walking “the Avenue” became unsafe. I would walk with her, and alter, when I learned to drive, I would pick her up and take her to bingo. My grandmother had many friends who played bingo, and I got to meet them all. I loved hanging out with them, and even began to start going to card parties with them, where the old ladies would meet, eat, socialize, play cards and buy raffle tickets. Even in my grandmother’s waning years, before Alzheimer’s robbed her of the ability to play the game she so dearly loved, I still often went to bingo with my grandmother. Today’s bingo game is high-tech. You no longer use plastic chips and wands, there are computers and video monitors so you can watch the number come up before it is officially called and put into play, and it costs a lot more. But the prizes are bigger, there are bigger crowds and more diversity. No longer is bingo just for little old ladies looking for a night out on the town. Couples, young people, and men all go to bingo, looking for the magic of winning. Today, you can find bingo at casinos, on cruise ships, and bingo halls, places where all they do is play bingo, unlike the Knights of Columbus, who I am sure do important stuff, but I never learned what. Maybe I will ask someone someday. Funny, I never counted up all the money I spent over the years on playing bingo. I am sure I probably could have bought a house. I did not win at bingo today, but I had fun. I didn’t go with my mother either, but I roared when she called me on her cell phone (which didn’t exist when I first started going to bingo) during intermission to see if anyone had won the “big jackpot.” In this particular game, if no one wins, the prize carries over to the next week. So we made our plans to go next week. My husband will probably go with us as well, as he went today, and did ok. He didn’t embarrass me, and didn’t fall asleep. Why am I going on and on about bingo? Two reasons hit me like flood waves, resurfacing things I have not thought of in years. I liked going to bingo because it gave me something safe to do. As a pre-teen and adolescent, I didn’t have many friends. I wasn’t popular, I wasn’t attractive, and I didn’t have the gift of gab. I didn’t like to talk to people, because I stuttered, and I was afraid of how I would sound. I was afraid of how people would think of me. So finding quiet things to do, where I didn’t have to say much of anything, was salvation. My mother didn’t care if I went with her or not – I was good company in those days, for lots of reasons. She had six kids and a stormy marriage, so going to bingo was sort of salvation for her too, I suppose. My mother still goes to bingo pretty regularly these days. I used to go with her pretty regularly, but post-job, bingo is low on the priority list. But it was a nice treat today. The other significant thing about bingo for me today, and for all these years, is something that just dawned on me. Remember, all this stuff is rising to the top and has to be dealt with. When you play bingo, the object is to win, of course. And when you win, you yell “Bingo” so one of the volunteers can hear you, verify your win, and pay you. In bingo terms, when you only need one number to win, it’s called “a case”. It’s always exciting to get a case, even if the stakes are only $20. Today, the game I was playing that caused my heart palpitations was worth $3320. I didn’t get a case, only got down to two numbers, before someone else yelled “bingo” and won. Now for all these years I thought my pounding heart and racing pulse were due to the anticipation of winning. I have had my share of “cases” over the years, and have always experienced the same physical reactions. Yes, it’s exciting to have a case and yell bingo. But for me, it’s always been one more thing. I was always petrified that if I won and had to yell bingo that I would stutter. There, I said it. It has haunted me all these years, as much as possibly winning at bingo can haunt you. I was afraid that if I won, and I yelled, it might sound like “B-b-b-bingo.” I didn’t want to embarrass my mother or my grandmother, or myself. I won my fair share of times over the years, and compensated by yelling so loud you could hear it across the street. When I yelled that loud, I didn’t stutter. I always rationalized that I wanted to be sure I was heard. I was heard all right, in the next town. No one ever said anything, but people around me always smiled, that patronizing smile, like, “Look, how pathetic. That lady is so excited to win $20 that she is screaming her head off.” I still yell loud when I win bingo, and now I know why. I’ll try to say it more gracefully from now on.