The memories of her childhood years, sharing those nights with her own father, translated…
Dad patted the drawing box, asked curiously, “What is this?”, like he’d, never walked through those years. I said, “Do you not remember the paper cards underneath the lamplight?”
Before the New Year’s, I saw a whole bunch of drawing boxes at the wholesales mart, an assortment of themes, universe fairies, starlight beauties, a ton of joys……I’d become curious, picked one up, was shocked, how light? I’d, turned it over, oh, it’s, made from Styrofoam. Then, my thoughts took me back, to that dimly lit lamp.
In my elementary years, in order to make more money, dad had made that small space in front of the tailor’s shop as a small grocery store, that small space, only had the kids’ snacks and marble sodas. Later, someone suggested that dad go to the back train stations to get some gambling toys from the wholesales, that it would be, easy money.
And, dad did, buy a lot of those games, and, the next day as I’d arrived home from school, the shop was packed with customers, there was a teenage boy who’d won the big prize, started hollering in excitement, and everybody who was there, cheered him on. But, dad looked upset, like he’d, lost a war.
After the shop closed, my dad took that brand new drawing box, turned on the lamp, and, through the lamp, he’d, taken out the larger numbers. I’d asked him why? He’d said, embarrassed, that the wholesales taught him to draw out the larger numbers, so the bigger prizes don’t get picked away so soon, thus, those who’d come later wouldn’t play the games anymore. But dad didn’t want to cheat, and, the biggest prize was drawn on that very first day.
what the box looks like, image from online…
My father also made his own game box, it was, a wooden board, with a dozen small boxes, I’d placed the candies, the toys, the coins in them, as dad checked them, he’d, put the paper strips over them. Then, patted my head, and pushed the leftover candy to me.
I’d loved watching people poking the holes, from contemplating on which hole to poke, to finally, poking, you can see how they did by the way they looked. I remembered where the coins were, and, was desperate to tell someone, and, I’d, hoped that the players don’t get it. The angel and demon played that game of tug-of-war inside my young mind.
As an older dad picked up the games, looked at it, like he was, trying to see the secrets. I’d asked, “Do you want a try?”, he’d asked, doubtfully, “You want to sell it?” I’d rolled up my sleeves, nodded, like I was, opening up for business, “Yeah, take a draw!”
My dad’s been drawing the cards his whole life, and there’s, no sign of success whatsoever, there were, the memories of how his ventures failed in my memories. He’d, chosen to run away from home with his older cousin, it was, like winning a one-way ticket, he never got back home again. In order to fulfill his dreams of returning home soon, he’d rented and not bought the house, and waited until he was certain, that home, was out of his reach, the housing prices already, skyrocketed, like those hard-to-reach stars. He couldn’t say no to people, chosen to partner up in business, and, in less than a year, he was, cheated out of his investments, and, my father fell seriously ill, because of it.
someone playing the games…photo from online still…
As the older dad looked at the cards hesitantly, I’d encouraged him to pick the fifth on the second row, counting from the left. He acted like an excited child, tore open the tickets, “Third prize!”, “Wow, you’re so good, try another one!” the older dad became, confused, and I’d, given him another hint, “the second one from the right on the fourth row!”, his smiles hadn’t, dissipated, the ticket said, “First Prize”, he acted like he’d, won the first prize of the lottery. I’d, given him the rewards, those, bills I’d, switched out earlier, the older dad was so happy, don’t know if he’d, returned, as I had, back to those nights of, looking into the drawing box underneath the lamp light at night.
And so, this, is a childhood memory for you, and it’s significant, because it’s something that you helped your father do, and, it brings you back to the childhood years, having this man at the stand, drawing the cards out of those small separated boxes…