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The importance of winning
Our good friend, Shannon, brought a new player to the Saturday night
game. This was an elderly woman named Esther who walked with the aid
of a fast, wheeled, pointed walker. Much fuss was made over making sure
Esther had the right game cards. Shannon assured the workers she would
help, but still they watched over her fussily. I even caught myself looking to
make sure she was on the right game.
Once she was on—I could tell by the way Shannon behaved, alternately
watching Esther’s cards and glancing at the monitor, paying little attention
to her own cards. I had to tell Shannon she had a Bingo and even then I
thought she called her win rather reluctantly. It became apparent that
Esther wanted to win rather badly and resented anyone around her
winning. Shannon wanted to give the win to Esther, but there was no way
she could do that, nor would Esther have let her do so. Esther wanted to
win on her own with no help from anyone, thank you.
The games wound on with Kate and Shannon splitting a win, which drew a
furious look from our newcomer. At intermission I walked over to Esther
and said, “Well, are you having a good time?”
“No, I am not,” came the instant reply. “The only time Bingo is fun is when
you win.”
“I don’t agree,” I said. “Bingo is great for the companionship and almost
winning and the chase of the game.”
“Humph,” she said. “Bingo is about winning, nothing else.”
During the second half, I was desperate for her to win a game—not
because she needed the money or the self-esteem, but because she
seemed so much to need a good time. That was one time I would have
rigged a game if I could, just to make her life better.
Kate had brought cookies and tried to share them. Esther shook her head
firmly. I offered a drink out of my thermos of lemonade. Esther looked
away. Shannon just shrugged and worked harder at the cards.
As we played the special game of the arrow in any corner, Esther became
frustrated with the confusing pattern. She missed a Bingo when the next
number was called and pounded the table in frustration. We all felt guilty.
By the time of the final blackout, Kate and I were not even looking in Esther’
s direction. We worked busily on our own cards. I won the on-the-way
game and was very excited. Shannon kept checking the cards against the
lighted game board to make double and triple sure she hadn’t missed a
number. Then finally, on the sixty-first number, Esther won. She did not
erupt into delight, but sat back with a satisfied smile on her face. “Now that’
s more like it,” she said. “I told you winning is what it is about.”
We waited to walk out with them after Esther collected her winnings and
Kate observed, “It’s such a beautiful night, I feel like giving thanks for just
being able to enjoy it.”
“And for winning,” added Esther
Our good friend, Shannon, brought a new player to the Saturday night
game. This was an elderly woman named Esther who walked with the aid
of a fast, wheeled, pointed walker. Much fuss was made over making sure
Esther had the right game cards. Shannon assured the workers she would
help, but still they watched over her fussily. I even caught myself looking to
make sure she was on the right game.
Once she was on—I could tell by the way Shannon behaved, alternately
watching Esther’s cards and glancing at the monitor, paying little attention
to her own cards. I had to tell Shannon she had a Bingo and even then I
thought she called her win rather reluctantly. It became apparent that
Esther wanted to win rather badly and resented anyone around her
winning. Shannon wanted to give the win to Esther, but there was no way
she could do that, nor would Esther have let her do so. Esther wanted to
win on her own with no help from anyone, thank you.
The games wound on with Kate and Shannon splitting a win, which drew a
furious look from our newcomer. At intermission I walked over to Esther
and said, “Well, are you having a good time?”
“No, I am not,” came the instant reply. “The only time Bingo is fun is when
you win.”
“I don’t agree,” I said. “Bingo is great for the companionship and almost
winning and the chase of the game.”
“Humph,” she said. “Bingo is about winning, nothing else.”
During the second half, I was desperate for her to win a game—not
because she needed the money or the self-esteem, but because she
seemed so much to need a good time. That was one time I would have
rigged a game if I could, just to make her life better.
Kate had brought cookies and tried to share them. Esther shook her head
firmly. I offered a drink out of my thermos of lemonade. Esther looked
away. Shannon just shrugged and worked harder at the cards.
As we played the special game of the arrow in any corner, Esther became
frustrated with the confusing pattern. She missed a Bingo when the next
number was called and pounded the table in frustration. We all felt guilty.
By the time of the final blackout, Kate and I were not even looking in Esther’
s direction. We worked busily on our own cards. I won the on-the-way
game and was very excited. Shannon kept checking the cards against the
lighted game board to make double and triple sure she hadn’t missed a
number. Then finally, on the sixty-first number, Esther won. She did not
erupt into delight, but sat back with a satisfied smile on her face. “Now that’
s more like it,” she said. “I told you winning is what it is about.”
We waited to walk out with them after Esther collected her winnings and
Kate observed, “It’s such a beautiful night, I feel like giving thanks for just
being able to enjoy it.”
“And for winning,” added Esther