Bingo Night, 2007

Andy’s mother asked for a divorce when she saw this month’s credit card statement. I thought she knew our situation, but I overestimated her. It’s true. I was negligent in managing our spending… And things were not great. $136,859.23 was the number that killed us. My job was good, but Rebecca had to start working again to help us keep up. Even then it felt like the pace of our own life, of the world, was too much to handle. There was always something wrong with the house that needed repairs, remodels, or replacing. Gas was up every single day. A few random illnesses. Andy was growing and always needed new clothes that he would fit into. Sometimes it was just easier to swipe the credit card and push the thought off to another day – which had actually, finally, come. 

Andy asked why Mommy was crying. I said a distant cousin he’d never met had died. He said, “Oh. Are we still going to Bingo?” The grand prize was a Nintendo Wii and Andy wanted it. Mommy made it clear that she wasn’t coming. I didn’t feel like going myself, but he was looking forward to it. So we went without Mommy to try and save face.

This was the first time Andy and I had ever done something together alone, without Rebecca. We’ve done everything as a family. What were the two of us going to discuss without Rebecca filling in all the air time? I wasn’t sure what to say on the drive over to his school, so I said nothing. 

The PTA at Tuscarora Elementary knew how to put on a good Bingo night. The cafegymatorium was packed. Elbow to elbow on long lunch tables. I got us a seat near the back right facing the stage. Andy sat quietly, waiting for the games to start. He was in third grade and quiet. I gave him forty bucks and sent him off to get the playing cards. 

When Andy’s old, he’ll always remember that night his Dad took him to Bingo before having to move out. I had to make it memorable and meaningful. But what am I supposed to say to him? He’s nine. Just a kid. This was the tradeoff Rebecca and I made when we decided to have a child. I would work and she would be a homemaker. I commuted far and worked long hours at the office and we made a life out of it. I only really saw Andy for a couple hours at night and on the weekends. While Rebecca watched Andy gradually grow overtime and knew his food quirks and routines and likes and dislikes, I barely knew him. I was more acquainted with the framed photo of Andy that sits on my desk. His Kindergarten school photo with a sweet smile and an orange Hawaiian shirt on. That’s the Andy I know most.
I had to make this count. 

“How is school going?” I asked when he returned with our cards. 

“It’s good,” he said while examining the numbers we were dealt. 

“What’s your favorite subject?”

“Gym.” 

“That’s not a real subject. I mean, like, math or history.”

“I guess science.”

“What are you learning about?”

“Mealworms.” 

“Mealworms?”

“They – They’re little worms that we’re growing and then they’ll become a pupa, like a – like a chrysalis – and then they go through meta–metamorphosis and be a beetle.” 

“Oh. That’s cool.”

“Yeah.” We silently waited for the games to start. Five minutes behind schedule. All around I saw other fathers with their sons chatting, wrestling, laughing. What the hell were they talking about? 

“Do you like bugs?” He just shook his head. Sometimes it’s like pulling teeth to get him to talk. What am I supposed to do? Tell him what kind of man he needs to be? Teach him about women? I wouldn’t even know how to do that. Probably because my father didn’t know. Now I don’t know. Now Andy won’t know. Maybe Rebecca will remarry somebody who does and Andy will be just okay in the end. 

This does feel like the end. Have I irrevocably damaged my son?

Finally Bingo started. A simple five in a row will win you the game. A gift basket from Guiseppie’s, an Italian bakery in town. Andy was really into it, pulling out his hair each number he didn’t get. 

“Hey, take it easy kid. We don’t want that. We want the Wii.” Jesus Christ he lit up. 

“I really hope we win.” Big goofy smile showing all his missing teeth. He had my blue eyes and they were so clear and perfect. I wanted him to be like this his whole life. Poor kid, we had to switch his class in the middle of the school year because of how bad the bullying got. Rebecca had to sit down with the principal multiple times before they would let him switch. Endless harassment. Weird. That’s what they kept saying. His hair was weird. His clothes were weird. His face was weird. His teacher was on maternity leave and the sub couldn’t handle it. He was always pretty quiet, but now… now he doesn’t really speak at all. And this divorce. God. 

If I could… If I could just win that Nintendo Wii. Maybe if that happened for him. I could freeze him at this moment. He’d be a brand new kid ready for the future. 

“Play my card for me, I’ll be right back.” I went back over to the ticket counter, took out forty more dollars, all the cash I had, and bought more cards.

“Whoa,” Andy was impressed with our stack. 

“We’re going to win the Wii,” I assured him. Andy fistpumped with his tiny little hand. 

We crashed and burned on the five across and remained silent the whole time. Andy kicked his feet in the air under the table impatiently waiting for the next game to begin. I felt my throat dry up trying to come up with something to say. Nothing came to mind. The pressure made me warm and compressed. My parents didn’t divorce. They’re not even dead. We never even had a dog die. If we had a dog and it got run over in the street in front of our house, maybe I would know how to tell Andy how to live his life better than I have lived mine. To not take out multiple lines of credit without a plan. To punch somebody in the face who makes fun of you. But what do I know? Nothing, apparently. 

I looked up at the ceiling, it was at least thirty feet tall and captured all of the sound above like a wave that never stopped crashing. One of the fluorescent lights was out. Another flickered. A wet spot had been freshly painted over. 

Next was an X with a sports lover’s package courtesy of Modell’s. One for the Yankees and one for the Mets. How have I –

“How have I not taken you to a Yankee game?”

He shrugged, disinterested.

“You don’t like Derek Jeter? He’s the best.” He shrugged again. “We have to go, they’re going to tear down the stadium. The House that Ruth built. You know Babe Ruth, right?” He nodded.

“Dad, you have that one,” he stamped my card for me. 

“You want to go to a Yankee game with me?”

“Maybe.”

“They’re the best. We’ll have hotdogs and peanuts. Maybe we’ll catch a homerun. They let you keep the balls if you catch them.”

“I-22,” the game went on. He was too focused to hear what I was saying but I kept going.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re a Met fan like your uncle.” I nudged him in the rib. He wormed away. He was so skinny, I could have poked right through him. I forgot what he felt like. When he was a baby, after I would come home from work, I would place my hand on his head while he slept in the crib. Fuzzy and soft. A fatty too. Bless Rebecca. She got up with him every time so I could get my sleep for work. She did everything so well. I tried to cut his fingernails once. He was scratching himself so bad we had to take care of them. His fingers couldn’t have been thicker than a pencil and the nails as big as a crumb. But they could do damage. I held him on my lap and distracted him with Sesame Street. The tiny clippers awkwardly fit in my hand and must have slipped or something because I nipped the tip of his finger. Enough to draw blood. He screamed like hell. Rebecca took him away. That was the first time I thought, “Maybe I wasn’t meant for this.” I stopped going into his room at night. 

“BINGO!” some kid shouted near the front. Andy deflated at his loss.

“Is he in your class?” I asked.

He shook his head. 

“Do you know his name?” Nope. There’s a hundred kids here. None of them have come up to Andy. Is he lonely? He seems content. He had a best friend in first grade. A kid named Daniel. He never came over the house, but that’s what Rebecca told me. I don’t really have friends, but I’m an adult. He’s a kid. Kids should have friends. 

An electrical pulse radiated down my arm and I put my hand on Andy’s head and ruffled up his fauxhawk. He quickly pulled my hand away to make me stop. 

They announced there would be a small break, so I grabbed us two Dr. Peppers and we waited for the game to resume. Andy burped pretty loud. I wanted to burp too, but I couldn’t. Nothing would come up.

A few more games were played without a word. Andy got close on a few boards, but I was far from a victory.

Finally it was time for the final game, full board for the Nintendo Wii. 

“Here, let’s organize these,” I helped Andy arrange the cards all in front of us. He was up on his knees to get the best view possible. 

“O62,” we had it. On two boards. Andy stamped them out faster than I could even register where I was. 

“I29,” another for us. The room was silent. Perhaps all of the father’s were in the same situation I was. N42. O63. B1. N37. I21. On and on it went. 

“B4,” people moaned.

“B14,” people cheered. Andy tapped the end of our stamper on the table. One of our boards was doing okay. The father next to me was doing better. 

“G57,” I didn’t have it.

“Shit,” I said a bit louder than a whisper. I felt the word slip into the vacuum above. Heads turned. A shush traveled back to me. Andy giggled. Whoops. 

Every B and N had been called. We were getting close. It was anybody’s game. A bead of sweat fell from my bald head onto the table. Jaw tightened. Headache building.

“Dad, look,” Andy pointed to one of the twelve boards. We were two away. Heat washed over me. 

“We got this,” I said, placing my hand on his shoulder.

“I26.”

“BINGO!” I shot up to search out who dared say the word. A mother and her son ran up to the front with their winning game. 

“No…” Andy sunk back onto his rear. Some people started packing up to leave. 

The PTA president examined the game against the called numbers. I prayed they had misheard a number, that they somehow fucked it up. 

“We have a winner,” she announced. The little boy, just a tad older than Andy, triumphantly held the Wii up in the air over his head. Most people clapped for them, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. 

“Sorry, bud,” I said.

“It’s okay.”

The drive home was quick. Commercials played on the radio. I thought about what I could say to make Andy feel better. What wisdom could I possibly derive from this loss that would prepare him for the coming one? 

My head was empty but full of pain. I wanted to cry and pull over and tell Andy I was so, so, so sorry. But I couldn’t be so vulnerable with him. That would be lasting damage. A father needed to be strong. 

And I did not feel strong. I did not feel like a father. 

Andy looked up at the passing street lights the whole way home. Not frowning. Not smiling. What was he thinking?

As we walked from the car to the house Andy looked up at the sky.

“Orion!” He pointed at the constellation above. 

“Where?” He pointed once more. I think I knew what he was talking about. 

“That’s Betelgeuse.”

“Huh, look at that.” There were an unusual amount of stars visible tonight. 

“So cool.” Andy leaned backwards and against my leg. I placed my hand over his shoulder and onto his chest.

The crickets were chirping. Our neighbor’s sprinklers were going off. It was a warm day and a crisp evening. Perfect weather, in my opinion. 

We stood there looking up at the stars above our house for some time before heading in.