and they're off
I almost lost my foot at the Roosevelt Raceway.
My dad loved to take us to watch horse races when we were kids. My very first real lie was at the racetrack. You had to be six years old to get in and I was five. My dad told me that if anyone asked, I was six. The guy at the gate asked and I said I was six. He tried to trip me up with a follow-up question and asked what grade I was in. I wasn't expecting this sort of underhandedness but stayed focussed and said I was in first grade even though I was in kindergarten. I must not have said it with enough conviction though because he sent us packing.
That lesson helped to form me into the tremendous liar I am today.
My dad would sometimes set aside a couple of dollars for us to bet with. I am not sure about my sisters, but I knew at a young age how to read a book and have an idea on which horses to bet. He once gave me a five dollar bill to hold onto until we were ready to bet with it, and when the time came I couldn't find it. He was so angry that he just walked to car and didn't even check to see if we were coming with him. I found it in my back pocket on the drive home.
I used to pick up old, dirty tickets off the ground hoping to find one that was a winner. I never did, but I once found one for a race that hadn't run yet. It was for the seventh race and the ticket was for a 1-3 exacta. The 1 and 3 came in at a photo-finish and it was about ten minutes before they finally decided that they finished 3-1, thus squelching my fifteen-dollar dreams.
Going down the escalator, I had my shoe rubbing on the sidewall and my foot got sucked down into the mechanism. Luckily it wasn't just my dad and I there that day as it often was, but his old boozed-up army buddy Monroe was with us and together they pulled me out. A gear had sliced the tongue off of my shoe and the top of my big toe.
I understand that this is not such an infrequent occurrence. A google search of escalator and foot found all kinds of interesting stuff including this guy's blog posting.
The moral of this posting is: stay away from the ponies...gambling is just a one-way ticket to Stumpsville.
My dad loved to take us to watch horse races when we were kids. My very first real lie was at the racetrack. You had to be six years old to get in and I was five. My dad told me that if anyone asked, I was six. The guy at the gate asked and I said I was six. He tried to trip me up with a follow-up question and asked what grade I was in. I wasn't expecting this sort of underhandedness but stayed focussed and said I was in first grade even though I was in kindergarten. I must not have said it with enough conviction though because he sent us packing.
That lesson helped to form me into the tremendous liar I am today.
My dad would sometimes set aside a couple of dollars for us to bet with. I am not sure about my sisters, but I knew at a young age how to read a book and have an idea on which horses to bet. He once gave me a five dollar bill to hold onto until we were ready to bet with it, and when the time came I couldn't find it. He was so angry that he just walked to car and didn't even check to see if we were coming with him. I found it in my back pocket on the drive home.
I used to pick up old, dirty tickets off the ground hoping to find one that was a winner. I never did, but I once found one for a race that hadn't run yet. It was for the seventh race and the ticket was for a 1-3 exacta. The 1 and 3 came in at a photo-finish and it was about ten minutes before they finally decided that they finished 3-1, thus squelching my fifteen-dollar dreams.
Going down the escalator, I had my shoe rubbing on the sidewall and my foot got sucked down into the mechanism. Luckily it wasn't just my dad and I there that day as it often was, but his old boozed-up army buddy Monroe was with us and together they pulled me out. A gear had sliced the tongue off of my shoe and the top of my big toe.
I understand that this is not such an infrequent occurrence. A google search of escalator and foot found all kinds of interesting stuff including this guy's blog posting.
The moral of this posting is: stay away from the ponies...gambling is just a one-way ticket to Stumpsville.
posted by sparklestone at 6:04 PM
3 Comments:
You forgot to talk about the joys of eating "meatball" subs among a crowd of alcoholic compusive gamblers; or going to the smoke-filled gameroom. Just so you know, at leat one of you siblings was able to read and comprehend every line of a racing card by the age of 6.
Wow, what a bunch of achievers I married into! And remind me to thank your pop for teaching you how to lie so young...
anonymous,
you could read and comprehend, but you couldn't pick 'em.
that's why i was put in charge of the money.
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