On any Friday night at Tybee Island, you will most likely find us at the American Legion, eating our treat of a weekly cheeseburger loaded with lettuce, fresh maters, and pickle relish. Once consumed, we play bingo.

It is a tradition of which few I have remaining.

Fortunately, the bingo master, Denise, is our front-door neighbor and reserves two seats at the entrance. I am incredibly grateful now that the hall is at capacity most Fridays this time of year.

I can see and watch everyone who enters and leaves. My back is not against the wall, but my head is on the swivel. I people watch.

There’s the grandmother with her T-shirt, “My favorite child. I don’t have one. I have grandchildren!”

There’s Mr. Dean. He’s from Hawaii. He turned golf pro at 17 but, like many, ended up in Vietnam. He buried two wives and four children and had a bypass before his current wife, Shelley, straightened him out. He had a stroke a few months ago. He uses a walker now but still plays golf every day.

And there is Mr. Ron; he was commander of the Legion for probably a decade. They gave him quite a party upon retirement. We all attended and thanked him profusely. He came to America from Brazil as a child. He and his sister rode a military transport alone. He was a drill instructor in the Army. It’s hard to imagine such a sweet man calling us maggots and stripping us of all dignity to rebuild us into men.

And this past Friday, a family of nine walked in — a set of parents and grannies and five younger ones. Not uncommon. After all, it is tourist season.

They were “seat looking” for the gang. We had five available. We invited the younger ones to join.

The two oldest were seniors at Savannah Day School Andrew and Mary Margaret. Savannah Day School is a local college preparatory school of note.

Andrew is a friend of Mary Margaret. He should be downhearted and try harder if he is not her boyfriend of choice. However, I keenly observed he probably is.

There was Mary Marget’s sister, a lovely girl with a porcelain complexion and auburn hair, and two cousins, who you could tell were part of the clan by their looks and personalities alone.

And all these youngsters were as polite and friendly as any of the folks in Mayberry.

And with all that’s going down in the world, sometimes we wonder if the next generation will be the last. Will they bring back compassion, love, inspiration, commitment, and hope to our humanity?

But within minutes of talking and visiting, one of those things we do in the South often, Kay and I became convinced there was still hope.

Andrew is a strapping linebacker and a long, tall fellow with bulging shoulders, an authentic smile, and brown eyes framed by tortoiseshell glasses. As his friends came in, he stood and fist bumped or hugged them, wishing them luck. He smiles a lot. I like that.

Mary Margaret’s face exudes the freshness and beauty of morning dew and a smile that warms the coldest hearts. She has the Irish about her: auburn hair and an engaging personality. You can almost see a bit of the mischievousness she may have had as a young girl. You can also see her compassion, kindness, and love for others. She doesn’t hide herself. She is confident and curious. Within her is an artist.

She prompted memories of mornings when I was a kid. The kind of day you like to run barefoot and sing; the hills are alive with the sound of music, or Country Roads Take Me Home.

Andrew and Mary Margaret reassured us of our good life, laughing, sharing, and kidding with one another and the cousin gang throughout the evening.

Mary Margaret won a Ben Franklin on the letter X double bingo and loudly announced it. There was no shyness there as she gave a thumbs up to her mom, seated rows down at the next table.

Andrew took her picture with bills spread like a turkey fan before her beaming face while a cousin photo bombed. I encouraged her to pay her taxes, invest some, donate to the church, and spend the rest on ice cream.

As my momma would say, all these kids were brought up right.

Mam and sir followed any answer. Please and thank you. More importantly, they engaged with their cousins and us in a family dynamic that only came from a beloved environment.

Andrew is thinking about business and biomed upon graduation. He comes from a family rife with doctors of any need, surgeons, generalists, and radiologists.

Mary Margaret is interested in architecture and psychology.

We met their granddad, Mr. Tommy, a 75-year-old landscape architect in Savannah, and the grandmother, a piano teacher.

Mr. Tommy has never met a stranger.

He met his wife in the second grade and took her to see Ole Yeller after a spaghetti dinner. They’ve been together ever since.

And we met the parents.

A dad with a firm handshake that looked you in the eye and talked with you as if you were his newest friend. And a mother who beamed when we confirmed that the world is better because of these kids.

Mr. Tommy and Kay exchanged phone numbers. And an agreement to make a date for us all to visit.

By the end of the evening, Kay and I had figured that even though the sun had gone down, the stars shone even brighter at Tybee last night.

Tradition never dies; it is passed along from generation to generation. As is good character, manners, and a love of life. In the end, it is all about family.

Hope is passed along to us through people like Andrew and Mary Margaret and their families.

I am hopeful we will see them again; they make an old buzzard like me feel good.

Next time, maybe I should save nine seats.