My dad also loved gambling too much. He never gambled property away or completely ruined his life, but his idea of a good time was sitting around a blackjack table at a casino for days at a time.

He also developed COPD, which he died of, but the gambling wasn't the reason. He was a smoker one way or the other.

We resolved once to quit smoking together. I made it. He didn't.

Dad loved Vegas, and Reno, and Atlantic City, and the casinos of Detroit. I would get a headache just walking in with him and hearing the machines clanging away.

I was only 18 the first time he took me to a casino in Atlantic City. I remember wanting to explore the boardwalk and finding something "interesting" to do. He tried to interest me with his blackjack "system," which didn't work nearly as well as he gave it credit for.

But he had other interests too, which we shared, and which bonded us. He indulged those interests when he moved to Mexico once, buying a bass boat and hiking mountains. But he moved back to the States after an explosion and fire at the casino in Monterey shook him. He'd planned to be there that day, but (as they say) for the grace of God.

Mexico seemed to lose its appeal after that. He loaded up his trucks with his dogs, drove up to Michigan and never looked back.

He never gambled again either.