As
long as I can remember, my Mom always prayed for everyone, especially children.
In
fact, whenever she'd see a child, she would take out her rosary beads and say a
prayer, right there, at that moment, wherever she was, asking the accompanying
parent if it was okay for her to bless their child.
"Of
course," they'd say.
Then,
every Monday-Friday, she attended the Senior Center in Irondequoit, New York;
and that cost her about $6.00 a day - a price that included lunch and service
for the van (that picked her up and took her home).
Thirty
bucks a week for a senior's regular activities?
Not
bad.
At
this simple-treasured Center, she also played cards, went on picnics, and
played bingo
She
especially loved the bingo.
A
whole lot.
I
never realized how much really.
Until,
one day, when I started giving her "extra" quarters with which to
play the game. Not a lot of quarters. Just seven dollars.
Not
ten.
Not
nine.
But
seven.
Every
other day, I’d walk into her apartment, and interrupt her daily viewing of Seinfeld or The Golden Girls, walk over to her, kiss her, and ask her to open
up her hand.
At
that moment, I’d pour out the seven dollars in quarters, twenty-eigh in all.
As
I did this, her reaction was one of astonishment.
She’d
look at me as if she won the lottery or the mega-jackpot in Vegas.
"Oh,
Herbie J," she'd say with so much joy, "...what a great son you are!
I have to pay you back! I have to pay you back!!"
"Ma,"
I’d reply, "You just go have fun at the Center."
And
she did, all the more...with that mere extra seven dollars.
Not
a million.
Not
a thousand.
Not
even ten.
But
seven.
Seven.
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