The reason I’m alive is sheer luck. Sure, we can all say that—scientists estimate the odds of being born at about one in 400 trillion—but I can thank luck, serendipity, and some mad word skills. My origin story started with two women, a washer-dryer, and a couple of award-winning jingles.

You see, my parents met because their mothers were both contesters.

No, not people contesting election results or fighting over wills. The emphasis goes on the first syllable. They entered contests.

Back in the day, contests were a big thing. And unlike today’s random “enter your email and wait for the spam” giveaways, they required skill. Which happened to be writing. You had to whip up a jingle, a slogan, a clever name. Basically, the Mad Men of Madison Avenue were outsourcing their jobs to housewives armed with a pencil and a Thesaurus. They dangled prizes like cash, knife sets, clock radios, baseball gloves, kitchen appliances, fur coats, and, if you were really good, a brand-new car.

My Nana (my mom’s mom) and my Grandma Lorraine (my dad’s mom who felt she was too young to be called “Grandma,” so she added Lorraine to the title for flair) were pros. They didn’t just come to play; they came to win. And they did. Often, in fact. How’s that for a WOW!?

Winners got their picture in the paper. And that’s how my family matriarchs met, posing together in front of a washer and dryer, their smiles practically saying, “We’re coming for the upright freezer next.”

One evening, Grandma Lorraine called Nana to chat about the latest competition. When my mom answered the phone, Grandma Lorraine asked, “Georgia, what are you doing home on a Saturday night?” My mom, never short on male attention, said, “I just got home from a lunch date and I’m about to be picked up for a dinner date.”

Grandma Lorraine sensed a challenge, so she replied, “Well, I have a handsome sailor home from the Navy. Want me to put him on the phone?”

Before my mom could say, “Thanks, I’m good,” my dad was on the line—probably as skeptical about the matchmaking effort as she was. But he was charming and funny, and she was gorgeous and smart, and the rest is, as they say, one big jingle jangle. (OK, no one says that. Just me.)

Anyway, how’s that for a luck-driven meet-cute?

According to my buddy Seneca, “Luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity.” My grandmothers basically lived by that mantra. They entered everything they could, turning ordinary days into potential paydays. They could’ve written the Survivor slogan: “Outwit, outlast, outplay.”

After my Nana died, I inherited her “contesting toolkit, ” which consisted of a rhyming dictionary, an idiom guide, and a homophone handout. But my favorite is her contest journal, filled with scribbled ideas. She circled the winning ideas in red pencil and noted the prize.

I learned that she once won a TV from Colgate with the slogan: “God-given looks need man-made care.” And for a lawn fertilizer company, she wrote: “A premium plus lawn food, Thrive ends growing troubles for once and for all, turning tired grass into gay blades, green and growing.” She won a car for that one. A car!

Meanwhile, Grandma Lorraine’s motivation seemed less about the prizes and more about the photo ops. She loved to see her name and face in print. Here she is accepting a fur coat from Coca-Cola.

So yes, luck is why I’m here, and I’ll happily claim my share of it. The writing bug is clearly genetic. I’ve carried on the family tradition of entering contests, too. Most today are pure chance with no skill required, but someone’s got to win, right?

Over the years, I’ve racked up my share of quirky prizes: a year’s supply of ground beef, a basket of dental floss (timely, given the beef situation), and an essay-writing class. I even won a Taster’s Choice contest once. You had to write the ending to that flirty-neighbor commercial series that was popular 20+ years ago. I can’t remember what I wrote, but apparently, it was good enough for a $100 American Express gift card.

And it all started with a couple of contest-loving grandmothers with a thirst for new appliances.

So, tell me—have you ever won anything?