THE WIND PHONE
How My Dearly Departed Mom Fixed the Scratch-off Lottery for Me
What Happens in Vegas or Brooklyn usually stays there
It just so happens that I was planning a special memorial with family and close friends for my mom who had passed the year before.
Along with a catered lunch and music, it was going to cost a pretty penny. All worth it.
Except for one thing. Mom loved to watch her pennies. She was generous but knew how to stretch a dollar. She always accused me of being a spend thrift, though, just like my godfather.
So be it. It never bothered me. Besides, my mom, being Italian and all, loved to entertain with food parties and feasts. Food is love. Especially in our family.
The funny thing was that I had little in common with my sensible mom, I was the wild child, the spitting image of her father, my godfather. I also possessed a number of his traits and habits.
After all, I was his favorite. My godfather, the gambler, playing cards and the horses. Nonna and my mom disapproved for one reason alone— he lost way more than he won.
When mom saw that I leaned towards lottery tickets and the casino, she barked and howled that I would ruin my life, just like my godfather.
The godfather who had bought me my first typewriter and set of encyclopedias. The godfather who promised to take me to the circus
to see the acrobats and the elephants.
The godfather who spoon-fed me my first taste of Medaglia d’Oro Italian coffee at his house, while my mom and dad were beyond busy toiling long hours at work.
The godfather who eventually was strong enough to give up his gambling habit.
Grandma and Mom were cautiously ecstatic.
And Mom thought I should quit, as well. I do remember one day in high school though, Mom bought a school raffle ticket the nuns forced me to sell and she won a television set. It was then that I figured it out — Mom was the lucky one in the family.
My beautiful, hardworking, loving mom. The best in the world. The one who dreamed of moving us four kids and Daddy into the red brick house with a big furnished basement on the quiet side of Ocean Avenue.
The mom who would read to us at night and cooked our favorite foods.
The mom who taught us to work and save our pennies, and we too could one day afford the down payment for our dream house.
And now, here we were, a lifetime later, celebrating her life at her memorial.
The sun was shining and the weather glorious that morning before the gathering. I decided to take an early run, pick up some breakfast for relatives staying at the house and while I was at it, get my usual lottery scratch off ticket.
Listen, either I never win or I hit small potatoes. You know the deal.
But that day, I was feeling connected to something or someone and I might have said a little prayer … about the ticket.
Scratch-scratch-scratch. Bingo. I scratched the lottery for over six hundred bucks.
Not bad, but I knew it was all Mom’s doing.
I had this strange feeling in my bones — that this was her way of chipping in for the caterer and other expenses — that she had fixed a way for me to scratch a tidy sum.
Don’t ask me how she did it — maybe she’s got connections up there, or something.
And don’t forget about that television set. Remember, Mom was the lucky one in the family.
Meanwhile, I do want you to know that I have conversations with her all the time about the most mundane of things — and I feel her presence, even at the most questionably inopportune times — like when I’m at the casino.
Grace notes: it’s all true. But I had forgotten all about it until I read some authentically heartwarming stories on Medium about Kendra Sparkles’ family.
You should check them out for yourself.
By Kendra Sparkles —
© Connie Song 2024. All Rights Reserved.
