Mama has a new mission.
Gambling for the good of others.
When she turned 80 a couple of years ago, I bought her two gifts, one of which fueled a delightful, philanthropic obsession.
The first gift was an iPhone. And lessons from me, a woman who suffers from Low-Tech-Itis.
The second was 80 scratch-off lottery tickets, equaling the number of years she’s blessed this earth.
She squealed in jubilation and decided those of us at her birthday celebration needed a spread of Zaxby’s chicken to complement the tickets. She scampered to the magazine rack and fetched a stack of old newspapers and scattered them across the dinner table.
Ticket scratching is a rather nasty process, leaving piles of silvery flecks everywhere.
Once the plates had been set and she’d handed us quarters for scraping, she presented a glorious salad and her beloved Zaxby’s chicken tenders.
I’d thought this was Mama’s first foray into the world of gambling.
Later, I’d learn I was wrong.
Mama is a devout Christian who went from Baptist to Methodist as easily as one switches from Ingles to Aldi’s. Her Bible and Sunday School lessons sit permanently on a table next to her side of the couch where she watches Project Runway and eats an odd lunch of peanut butter crackers and yogurt. Often followed by a KitKat or Dollar Store trail mix.
That evening, as we commenced for the meal, Mama said one of her classic, hilarious prayers.
“Let’s all hold hands,” she said in her sweet, almost child-like voice. My dad winked at me, knowing Mama’s prayers were always doozies. He’s thought of writing a book featuring her informal and impassioned chats with God.
“Dear Father, how are you this evening? We are all good here and thank you for that status. Father, I also wanted to thank you for my family and this delicious Zaxby’s chicken. Everyone is here for my birthday, and I’m so glad you gave me another one. I want you to know I’m ready to go anytime. Whenever you call for me. I can’t wait to meet you and Elvis Presley. You, first, of course. Dear Father, bless us as we scratch off these lottery tickets. If we win, Father, I promise to tithe the money, not spend it all at Stein Mart. So here we go, Father. Please, if it’s your will, let us have some winning tickets so we can go about my mission work. We love you, Father, and hope you’re having a nice evening. Amen.”
We ate and scratched, recouping about $60 from those tickets. Mama said the fun is in uncovering the numbers and prizes, even more so than the winning.
“I get a kick out of it, the anticipation. It just lifts me up thinking if I win what I’ll get to do for others.”
Once a week Mama will buy her tickets, typically the five-dollar variety.
“I’m not obsessed with it, but last time I won $30 and gave the church five when I really only needed to give them 3. The next time I won, I went to Bruster’s Ice Cream. I ordered seven of the empty waffle cones. I went and bought chocolate ice cream and took it to a lady at church who’d been sick. I usually win $20 and give five to the church.”
This is when I discovered she’d been scratching a few years before her 80th birthday. So I wasn’t the one who started this fervor.
It all began for an honorable cause, saving Katherine Hall, a historic building in her hometown that was once a bustling and beautiful place for the community to gather.
Since few wanted to part with money to preserve the building, Mama and her sisters decided winning the lottery would certainly help restore the grand old brick and white-columned treasure.
“We go to the filling station next to Katherine Hall and get two, five-dollar tickets apiece and take them to the gazebo there or by the river. Like I said, I scratch for the good of others.”
My precious mother, the perfect blend of kind and quirky.
“And if I don’t win, at least I’m educating the children of South Carolina.”
Amen, Mama.