Lessons From My Father: Please Gamble Responsibly

As the Super Bowl on Sunday draws near, Julie Walker, a Playinmichigan correspondent, opens up about her own experience with gambling addiction. If you or someone you’re aware of requires assistance, reach out to the Michigan Problem Gambling Helpline at 1-800-270-7117.

We have nineteen yards to go, absolutely. Absolutely! Let’s advance the chains. Spike, halt the clock. It’s time to get started!

Incomplete.

No. Breathe. Come on!

Incomplete.

Oh my goodness. Only nine seconds remaining. Struggling to catch my breath.

Incomplete again.

NO. NO. Game over.

The New York Giants defeated the New England Patriots with a score of 21-17.

Once again, Eli Manning emerges victorious over Tom Brady.

My heart was constricted with anxiety as sweat, tasting like Jim Beam, streamed down my face.

A friend inquired, “Hey man, what’s with the panic over just $50?”

“I must admit,” I confessed, “I may have stretched the truth a bit. You see, the $50 I mentioned earlier was merely the commission. In reality, my losses amounted to a staggering $550.”

“Dude.”

“Yeah.”

My friend who is a bookie didn’t even want to accept my money.

“Listen, buddy,” he had said, in an atypical manner for a bookie. “You’ve got a child to take care of. You honestly can’t afford to bet $500. And if luck’s not on your side, you’ll also have to cough up the $50 juice.”

I reassured, “Don’t worry, tax money will arrive soon.”

Moreover, there is simply no chance that Tom Brady will be defeated twice by Eli. It is an absolute certainty.

She get it from her Daddy

In my younger days, I would often find myself gasping for breath amidst the thick smoke and sticking to the grimy floors of Silver Lanes. Just like any typical father would, my Dad, Charlie Walker, would take me to that run-down bar and bowling alley in my hometown of Garden City. It was our way of bonding and spending some cherished quality time together.

I recall observing as his cigarette ends gradually burned, transforming into ash that would inevitably descend onto his shirt. Occasionally, he would remember to swiftly take a puff and tap off the remaining ash into an ashtray before lighting a fresh one.

While Dad indulged in his cigarettes and engaged in conversation with his friend, I sipped on Shirley Temples, the adorable “adult-like” beverage designed for a 6-year-old like me.

After many years, I discovered that we had actually been meeting Dad’s bookie.

There was no attempt by him to conceal it, nor did I ever inquire about his habits. As I grew older, my Dad taught me how to bet in a manner that felt as ordinary as learning to ride a bicycle.

At the age of 12, my dad challenged me to a $20 bet on a Chargers-Raiders game. Feeling confident, I chose the visiting Chargers as the obvious winners based on their records. However, being new to the world of NFL, I had overlooked the importance of thorough research.

“Dad emphasized the significance of rivalry games, Julie,” he said. “You must understand the profound impact they have, even on the weakest teams. It’s crucial to possess comprehensive knowledge about everything, ranging from the weather conditions to the potential influence of the stadium on each team.”

Afterwards, he confiscated my money.

But, there’s always tomorrow

During our recent phone conversation, I came to the realization of how innocent and naive young Julie, my mom Shirley Walker, was when she believed that my dad and his friends had a foolproof plan to become wealthy. According to her, they were constantly on the verge of hitting the jackpot and achieving the ultimate payout that would free them from ever having to work again.

I was aware of our financial struggles. I was aware that Dad went above and beyond during Christmas, feeling guilty about the time when they had to return or sell all my toys. Memories of sneaking out of our Tampa Bay apartment under the moonlight come flooding back. We managed to survive for six months, with Mom working as a waitress at Red Lobster and Dad taking on daily construction jobs for pay.

When I inquired with Mom about Dad’s most significant loss, I anticipated a substantial sum of money, perhaps around $40,000 from a bet on the Lions or something similar. (In reality, Dad has a strict rule against betting on the Lions, as he believes it always results in a loss, regardless of whether you bet for or against them.)

“I find it difficult to recall the magnitude of the loss now,” Mom said. “If I’m not mistaken, it was around $3,000.”

“I don’t think that’s a significant amount,” I commented, bearing in mind that I cannot afford a $3,000 wager.

Perhaps not at the moment, but that was almost three decades ago. Back then, we were dealing with the responsibilities of raising a child, making two car payments, and paying off a mortgage. Unfortunately, we didn’t have the financial means for him to experience any losses.

During his bookie years, Dad was dedicated to football, as Mom often mentions.

“He didn’t place bets on every single game,” she stated, “but he wagered on the majority of them. This included Thursday Night Football, college games on Saturdays, and Sunday parlays…”

Then, on Mondays, he’d consistently make attempts to extricate himself.

‘It was just getting some money back that he lost’

I pointed out to Mom that football betting does require skill and recalled that I have seen him win quite frequently.

Indeed, there were weeks when he emerged victorious, which served as his motivation to continue. However, his victories were merely a means of recuperating some of the money he had previously lost rather than true triumphs.

The outcome of gambling always favors the house, making it highly unlikely for anyone to come out as a winner.

Mom mentioned that Dad, who dealt with ADHD along with various mental health challenges, including struggles with addiction, never really prioritized money.

“He believed we were sufficiently provided for as long as he remained employed,” she expressed. “There is perpetually another opportunity in the future.”

Every week, she would repeatedly inform him that we lacked the financial means to afford it. She would plead with him to consider taking a week off.

She stated that he would first contact the bookie while she was working, followed by calling her and instructing her to cheer for San Fran and the over as he had placed a $1,200 bet on it.

My mom claims to have no recollection of a particular event that made him stop gambling with bookies. She insists that there was never a monumental setback, only a series of minor debts that accumulated over the years. Unfortunately, these debts eventually led to two instances of bankruptcy, a failed truck lease, the loss of an apartment lease, and even some money that was meant for my education.

Before he made the promise to primarily wager on squares, pools, and fantasy football, Mom still remembers what she had said during their previous encounter with the bookie.

Look, Charlie! We’ve come to hand over this guy your entire paycheck, and yet he’s cruising in a luxurious gold Cadillac.

Seventies friends are forever friends

Mom, who has been cancer-free for four years now, admitted that she has suppressed many memories from those challenging days and finds it difficult to recall them. On the other hand, all I can recall is fantasy football-related matters.

I have vivid memories of my uncles, whom I will call Kyle and Tim to protect their privacy, gathering to watch football. These gatherings became more frequent after my dad obtained a settlement for a work-related injury. It was thanks to this settlement that we were able to purchase our very first house the summer before I entered fifth grade.

In our basement, my dad created a football paradise, a sanctuary for all things related to the sport. Even before the age of internet, he initiated a fantasy football league known as the Invitational Fantasy Football League (I.F.F.L.), which came to life approximately in 1987.

Kyle and Tim made regular visits to prepare for the draft, passionately discussing the players and their remarkable stories. Every Sunday, they would gather to watch the games, with Dad taking his usual spot in the center of the basement.

The DirecTV package was connected to all four of the downstairs TVs, with each playing a different game at a high volume. Amidst all this, the Lions were caught up in their own unfortunate situation.

At the time, everything appeared to be innocent entertainment. Dad and his companions exuded a delightful sense of humor and charisma. They regaled each other with tales of their rebellious youth as mischievous troublemakers who successfully graduated in the year 1971.

Everything was glamourized by them – the cigarettes, the weed, the concerts. Their constant joke was that they would never survive beyond their 60s.

None of them did.

The school of hard knocks and half-truths

As I grew older, I gained a clearer understanding of my childhood. During my journalism training, I took it upon myself to fact-check some of Dad’s stories, such as the one where he insists he was mistaken for Ted Bundy.

My father instructed me to apply for college loans in order for him and my mother to repay them all at once, utilizing an account that he and my grandparents had established. He assured me that they had sufficient funds to cover an additional loan I had obtained for car repairs, which my previous roommate had co-signed. Furthermore, he requested that I update my address in the school system to ensure that all loan-related communication would be directed to them.

My dad informed me that they were consistently making payments, and I have not received any notification indicating otherwise.

One day, after being pregnant for approximately eight months, I was startled awake by a furious voicemail from my ex-roommate. Unbeknownst to him, his credit score had always been immaculate. However, when he and his fiancé attempted to secure a mortgage, their application was rejected. It turned out that he had a defaulted loan of $4,000, which had now skyrocketed to an astonishing $9,000.

My $9,000 loan.

Oh, baby

A pregnant woman’s wrath knows no bounds. I promptly reached out to Dad, but his responses were evasive. He mentioned something about requiring the money for a bankruptcy, but his explanation kept shifting.

In order for my friend’s credit rating to be updated, the loan sharks demanded a payment of $6,000 and insisted on us following a payment plan. Unfortunately, we had to utilize all the money set aside for our wedding and our down payment for our future home in order to fulfill their demands.

Today, as I write this story, I find myself in a basement apartment where radiators reside on the ceiling, and unfortunately, we lack the ability to regulate our own heat. It has been years since my college days, and yet I remain in the same complex.

It’s been eleven years, so it’s not solely my Dad’s responsibility that we are still residing in this place. We have faced numerous difficulties, including the ongoing pandemic.

I often ponder how much our lives could have improved if Dad had simply been honest with me. Deep down, I understand that he believed another significant victory was right around the corner. I was aware that if he had the funds, he would have willingly given them to me.

Despite his significant challenges, he possessed an immense capacity for compassion. He dedicated his time to coaching me in softball and went the extra mile by organizing extravagant birthday celebrations complete with delectable steaks for our beloved Dachshunds. Every weekend, he made the lengthy journey from Goodrich solely to support his sole grandson, never accepting any compensation due to his belief that education should be prioritized.

Mom: You are *exactly* like him

I am a Daddy’s girl through and through, just like him. He instilled those qualities in me as I grew up. Despite his numerous, well, mishaps in life, he never really passed judgment on me.

As a new Mom to a 1-year-old, I found myself in a predicament. In February 2012, I made the daring decision to wager our rent on Super Bowl XLVI, hoping to secure funds for a down payment on a house. Frustrated and in need of support, I turned to Dad to express my concerns.

I was taken aback when he yelled at me, something I hadn’t anticipated. He advised me against repeating his mistakes, emphasizing that I was his little mini. He went on to mention that if he had an addictive personality, then I might have one too.

That’s correct. This occurrence occurred prior to my decision to quit smoking cigarettes, consuming excessive amounts of diet soda, and so on. Thankfully, my father’s influence had a positive outcome this time. I have refrained from making any more bets with a bookie.

I currently limit my involvement to fantasy leagues and an annual pool. In the rare instances where I do place bets, I always ensure that the amount does not exceed $50 or $100, and it is predetermined. Moreover, it is important to note that all my activities comply with the law.

Despite her disdain for most forms of gambling, Mom admitted that she felt more at ease when Dad stopped dealing with the bookie and started focusing on fantasy sports, squares, and similar activities.

“It’s alright, as it is something within our control,” Mom reassures. “You just need to come up with the money beforehand, allowing for a certain level of control.”

Despite surviving a suicide attempt on Father’s Day in 2009 and being required to stay in a Flint hospital, Dad made an effort to improve his mental health. He even began therapy. Concerned that I might inherit his struggles, he frequently recommended that I seek therapy as well. Interestingly, I never followed his advice.

Until I lost him.

At the age of 64, Charlie Walker’s life came to an end on January 6, 2018, following a two-month struggle to overcome a stroke. His passing occurred between the deaths of his closest companions.

Tim passed away in under a year due to a heart attack, just like Kyle did back in 2005.

All of them missed out on hitting the jackpot.

If you or someone you are acquainted with requires assistance, please dial 1-800-270-7117 to reach the Michigan Problem Gambling Helpline.