I don't like bright lights, clusters of crowds or smoky scenes, and while in Las Vegas for a convention, I would never have entered a casino if Al hadn't brought a roll of coins along as "dessert" to complete our dinner together.
But he did, so after we ate I followed him to a back room -- beyond the slot machines, beyond the dice tables, beyond the NCAA championship -- and we were off to the races.
Al grew up in Kentucky around horses and still loves them. He taught me how to bet on mechanical steeds, five of them -- each the size of my thumb -- that raced around a pool-table-size track. To win, we had to guess which horses would finish in first and second place. Each victory brought a shower of money. Each defeat brought a renewed desire to beat the odds.
The horses completed a lap and, on his dime, I learned this: I like long odds; I'd rather win big than small. And, I hate to lose. I cannot stand to be anywhere but first at the finish line.
My sister has known this about me for most of my 37 years. The night before Al and I were cheering on the horses, she and I spent some time in Las Vegas together, reflecting on our constant competition and cashing in our metaphorical chips.
I am eight years younger, the baby sister, and was spoiled by our parents in ways she wasn't. But neither of us ever won big: our parents' attention was not a prize they were giving away. Nevertheless, we vied and positioned and lost the real jackpot -- a friendship with each other.
It was only as our father was dying that we were able to put all our cards on the table and call it a draw, perhaps because, in the end, there was no dealer left, just us.
I have only one child, in part because I didn't want him jostling for position. Nevertheless, I have passed along my competitive spirit. His soccer team is three games into the season, and they haven't won a match yet. Playing isn't enough for him, which makes him a very sad 7-year-old many Saturday mornings.
I remember the hollow sound of the mechanical horses while I watch my son pull the arm on the small slot machine I brought home for him from Las Vegas. He loves to feed it dimes, patiently continuing until he wins and they all spill out.
He is relentless, determined to keep going beyond when others might stop, possibly moments away from victory, but never sure.
My son is only beginning to learn the price he will pay for this tireless persistence.
I tallied up my total while Al and I ended the evening -- $11 ahead.
As the horses made their final lap, I realized that gambling is about taking chances, knowing the odds, calculating the risks, and putting your money down anyway. It's about rolling the die and playing the hand you're dealt, card by card. It's about letting life unfold, risking it all on people, losing, and starting all over again.
Gambling is about optimism and realism.
Ultimately, it's about being willing to lose in order to win.
This LifeFiles column originally appeared on about 70 TV station websites managed by Internet Broadcasting Systems.