My summer vacations were spent in the homes of relatives, that being what we could afford at the time, and often Dad had to deal with some family business or other anyway, so we got close to cousins and aunts and uncles.

One such vacation, I was 13, my voice had just changed once. (total, voice changed three times, each time a cold or infection bringing on the change) Anyway, my voice had suddenly become big and booming, and I had the lungs to match (at 13 I was already nearly 6′ tall).

On our vacatins we did the things people ordianrily did, we fished, we hiked, we played canasta with family. And this year, because I had just turned 13, I was allowed to go with the adults and play bingo at the Moose Lodge on wednesday night.

Mom and Rosie sat and studied their cards, dad and Calvin absently placed corn on their spots and smoked and talked about crops.

I studied my card like Monk. I carefully separated corn kernels that were all the exact size and color, had a row lined up to use, and each number they called I scanned my card with a nearly religeous zeal, carefully placing and aligning the corn kernel if I did have a match.

Ten minutes (or less, I don’t remember) into the game, I had a row of kernels, straight across, and I poked mom “What do I do now?”

“Yell Bingo!”

SO mustering all the lungpower I had, and with my new, booming 13 year old voice, I yelled “BINGO!” In a room maybe twenty by thirty.

Dad dropped his pipe. The caller fell of the platform, and two of the cashiers dropped their Home Lumber nail belts full of change. A woman on the other end of the room screamed. I’m pretty sure at least one woman in the room peed herself just a little.

One of the cashiers sauntered over amid giggles from the players, confirmed my bingo, and counted out fourteen dollars and twenty six cents. The echoes of my large “Bingo” still reverberating through the room.

I spent the money on pop and candy for us kids, the very next day. Those five kernels of corn are still around here somewhere, in a coricidin bottle.