1-800-GAMBLER

“You gotta know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away, know when to run.”

Kenny Rogers from his famous song “The Gambler”

I just got chewed out by a liquor store owner, while impressing a homeless man.  Just another day on the mommy front lines.   Like always, it all started so innocently.  I had gone to the Goodwill to donate some items and conveniently there was a liquor store right next door.  Fabulous, I thought.  I will just pop in and get the boys some lotto scratchers for their Christmas stockings.  We do it every year for Christmas.  They love it.  So up to the counter I go and start choosing my selections.  A few of this, a little of that.

Enter homeless man with four teeth, looking over my shoulder.  He begins to compliment me on my selections and I am instantly flattered.  (Hey, I take them where I can get them these days).  As I am glowing in the light of the compliments the Liquor Store Owner, also impressed with my varied selection, asks who’s birthday it is.  That’s when I told him, “oh, no birthday, these are for my stepsons for Christmas.”

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTT, kill the music, stop the press, cover the plants.   His eyes slant, face frowns, gaze hardens.

Liquor Store Owner: “You are buying this for children.”

Me:  “Well they are teenagers, we do it every year, they love it.”

LSO:  “You are planting the seeds of evil.”

Me:  “Evil?!”

LSO:  “It is all a slippery slope.  It starts with lotto scratchers.  The homeless man that was behind you is a gambler.  He spends every last dollar on gambling.  Do you want your boys to end up like him, smelling of smoke and a penniless gambler.”

Me:  Softly…”No.”  Side note:  They better not ever have four teeth either.  We are paying a fortune for braces.  FLOSS!

LSO:  “You are teaching them to waste their lives, become alcoholics, drug addicts, to throw away all their money and hope for their future.”

Quick, where was the homeless guy?  I liked it a lot better when he was here.  He was gone.  I was stunned, flabbergasted, defensive, my mind was racing, but no words came out.   I wanted to defend us and tell the Liquor Store Owner how Harrison is a hard worker, how Reilly is a kind boy, how, as a family and through my husband’s bakery business, we are constantly volunteering and donating to churches, schools, homeless shelters, women’s shelters, and animal shelters.  We’ve helped clean the river and built parks.  We give money, time, bikes, clothes, baby toys, musical instruments, food etc.  I wanted to tell the Liquor Store Owner how my boys hold the door at restaurants for elderly people, how my husband donates his time in third world countries such as El Salvador and Albania teaching impoverished people bakery skills in hopes of training them so they can feed their families.  My mind was racing so fast that in spite of us being nice people, raising great boys, and all the amazing things as a family we do all that came out was…

Me: “Yeah, well their Grandparents taught them how to play poker!”

Shit, not good!  Fumble. Not a good come back at all.  The Liquor Store Owner just shook his head in disgust and mumbled something about me being a terrible person.  I should of just left the scratchers and his judgment there, but I needed those scratchers and I still had to get to the mall.

I will admit I got a little teary eyed.  No one wants to hear they are a bad parent.  Was I being a bad parent?  I used to be a blackjack dealer and even though we haven’t played a lot, on rainy days every now and then I teach the boys a little about blackjack.   I even throw in some cautionary real life stories of gambling losses I had seen and we talk about MODERATION. It has actually opened up some nice conversations between us, as I teach them a little blackjack and they teach me some poker their Grandparents taught them.  I decided that it was all in innocent fun and the boys are fine.

It was all worth it on Christmas when the boys dashed immediately for their stockings, screeched in delight at the scratchers, and plowed me over to get a quarter to scratch them.  I watched as Reilly, the 12-year-old, feverishly screamed,  ”I AM ADDICTED TO SCRATCHERS…I LOVE THEM!!”  I beamed with joy as their faces were all light up with the thrill of winning three free $1.00 tickets from $36.00 dollars worth of scratchers.  So boys, don’t do drugs, don’t become an alcoholic, don’t smoke, FLOSS, and if I ever catch you gambling…you had better always double down on a ten when the dealer is showing a six.  To leave you with a parting word from Kenny Rogers’ The Gambler, “if your gonna play the game boy, ya gotta learn to play it right.’

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