When I was in elementary school, around 3rd grade, we had an assignment to write a proper letter to a relative. I chose my Bingo Grandma.
Never calling her by her real name, I remember asking my dad for her mailing address. When I began to copy what he had written on an envelope at school the next day, I wondered who this person was that he had jotted down. It was a name I hadn’t heard before. This must be a mistake, I thought. I only knew Bingo Grandma. And so, without a street or zip code, that is all I wrote.
To: Bingo Grandma
Because that’s how I knew her.
She was my Bingo Grandma, because she loved to play bingo. Back before the internet and the many popular sites to frequent online. It was in a hall, surrounded by others like her. I vaguely recall stories of her winnings. She was a riotous lady with the same luck in Vegas, as well.
I sent the letter off, but it was marked ‘return to sender’ a few days later. Undeliverable as addressed. My dad asked why I didn’t just copy what he had written. I gave you her real name, he said. Because I didn’t know who that was, I replied.
The memories are more faded now, but one thing I can’t forget anymore is her name. Though even today, if I could write her again, my letter would stay addressed to Bingo Grandma. Because that is how I knew her.
This post contains a guest link. Thoughts, opinions, and words, however, are mine.