I came across this letter on my computer today. I
don't remember when I typed it from the handwritten original, but it was a
letter sent from David to Tom sometime in the 1990s. He talks about a
game the kids invented which they played with their grandmother. I
loved the letter not only because it shows what a good writer David was, but
because it comes from a time when he was alive and my mother had all her
marbles.
Hey TQ, T-Cute,
Have you ever heard of the game, bottle cap bingo? It's a very challenging, high wagering game. In case you don't know of it, let me give you some history;
There was this one day, I think it was Jeri's Birthday party at our parents' house and folks were millin' around, drinkin' brews out of the bottle and generally having a pleasant, socializing afternoon. Well, a coupla the gang, I believe it was Dave Anderson, Joel Bass-loser and maybe a couple others, were just absent-mindedly tossing bottle caps at the hole in the center of the patio table in the back yard (you know, the hole where the umbrella is supposed to go) while they yammered away, most likely about pooh and stupid stuff like that. Well, gradually the scenario escalated into these dumb musicians of the dumbest band on the planet taking careful aim and flicking bottle caps at the hole in the center of the table. Well, you know what happened next. Rules were developed, teams were formed, and wagers were placed. The party then became nothing but a bottle cap bingo tournament and it went on well into the evening.
Well, brother T., mother's day was a coupla days ago. The grandmas were there, Norm was there, all the kids (except the lame San Louis one) were there. Can you guess what happened? Oh what a wacky family. Here's the funny thing--well there are lots of funny things, but here's part of it. It started out with me, Jeri, Norm and the Big G. Rynders. Grams is babbling on about how much she sucks and that she doesn't really want to play. Man, that woman is aces! We're in one game and Grandma is my partner and we're down to Norm and Jeri, like, four to eight (you play to nine to win, but if you go over nine you go back down to six (there's a three point shot that can take you over nine (kinda like tip-in, you know?))). Well, it's Grandma's turn and she stealthily lines up her shot and then--bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. Money machine, baby! And we're standin' up slappin' five across the table, givin' our opponents the old "facial discracial" bit. She rules, man.
And then Grandma goes inside, and I need a new teammate, so we're trying to convince Marta to play, but she just DOESN'T want to play. Says she's lame and she won't have any fun. But we convince her and she hesitantly sits down to a game. So we start taking our warm ups and she can't make any shots and she's all pouting and looking like she just doesn't want to be playing. But then she hits a three-pointer and she gets that little magic bottle cap bingo sparkle behind her eyes. Slippery slope, man. The next thing, she's out there for, like, an hour and half. I finally go inside and when I come out again she's made up variations and is ready to wager her pugs on the game, ya know?
So, what it comes down to, Tom, is that I think the game is some kind of alien species, trying to take over the world. I mean, look at the history; it developed out of nowhere, it eventually sucked everybody into it to the point that the party was nearly forgotten, and now tournaments are being scheduled, variations are being made, casinos are being planned, and listen to how stupid I am. I think I'm just gonna stop talking because the further I go on in this letter, the more I feel like a fool. Forgive me.
Love,
Davacious
Have you ever heard of the game, bottle cap bingo? It's a very challenging, high wagering game. In case you don't know of it, let me give you some history;
There was this one day, I think it was Jeri's Birthday party at our parents' house and folks were millin' around, drinkin' brews out of the bottle and generally having a pleasant, socializing afternoon. Well, a coupla the gang, I believe it was Dave Anderson, Joel Bass-loser and maybe a couple others, were just absent-mindedly tossing bottle caps at the hole in the center of the patio table in the back yard (you know, the hole where the umbrella is supposed to go) while they yammered away, most likely about pooh and stupid stuff like that. Well, gradually the scenario escalated into these dumb musicians of the dumbest band on the planet taking careful aim and flicking bottle caps at the hole in the center of the table. Well, you know what happened next. Rules were developed, teams were formed, and wagers were placed. The party then became nothing but a bottle cap bingo tournament and it went on well into the evening.
Well, brother T., mother's day was a coupla days ago. The grandmas were there, Norm was there, all the kids (except the lame San Louis one) were there. Can you guess what happened? Oh what a wacky family. Here's the funny thing--well there are lots of funny things, but here's part of it. It started out with me, Jeri, Norm and the Big G. Rynders. Grams is babbling on about how much she sucks and that she doesn't really want to play. Man, that woman is aces! We're in one game and Grandma is my partner and we're down to Norm and Jeri, like, four to eight (you play to nine to win, but if you go over nine you go back down to six (there's a three point shot that can take you over nine (kinda like tip-in, you know?))). Well, it's Grandma's turn and she stealthily lines up her shot and then--bam, bam, bam, bam, bam. Money machine, baby! And we're standin' up slappin' five across the table, givin' our opponents the old "facial discracial" bit. She rules, man.
And then Grandma goes inside, and I need a new teammate, so we're trying to convince Marta to play, but she just DOESN'T want to play. Says she's lame and she won't have any fun. But we convince her and she hesitantly sits down to a game. So we start taking our warm ups and she can't make any shots and she's all pouting and looking like she just doesn't want to be playing. But then she hits a three-pointer and she gets that little magic bottle cap bingo sparkle behind her eyes. Slippery slope, man. The next thing, she's out there for, like, an hour and half. I finally go inside and when I come out again she's made up variations and is ready to wager her pugs on the game, ya know?
So, what it comes down to, Tom, is that I think the game is some kind of alien species, trying to take over the world. I mean, look at the history; it developed out of nowhere, it eventually sucked everybody into it to the point that the party was nearly forgotten, and now tournaments are being scheduled, variations are being made, casinos are being planned, and listen to how stupid I am. I think I'm just gonna stop talking because the further I go on in this letter, the more I feel like a fool. Forgive me.
Love,
Davacious
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