May 26: Then You Beg, Not a Gambler, Keep Your Head Down

Santiago thinks about gambling and luck . . . 

"Do you think we should buy a terminal of the lottery with an eighty-five? Tomorrow is the eighty-fifth day."

"We can do that," the boy said. "But what about the eighty-seven of your great record?"

"It could not happen twice. Do you think you can find an eighty-five?"

"I can order one."

"One sheet. That's two dollars and a half. Who can we borrow that from?"

"That's easy. I can always borrow two dollars and a half."

"I think perhaps I can too. But I try not to borrow. First you borrow. Then you beg."

"Keep warm old man," the boy said. "Remember we are in September."

"The month when the great fish come," the old man said. "Anyone can be a fisherman in May."

"I go now for the sardines," the boy said.

I am not a gambler.  Maybe when the Powerball approaches $500 million, I may be tempted to purchase an easy pick, but that's the extent.  I refuse to pin my hopes and dreams on a one in 292,201,338 chance.  If there's anything that I've learned over this last couple weeks, it's this:  you can't depend on the universe always to be good to you.

You can do your homework.  File your taxes on time.  Pay your bills.  Never cheat on your significant other.  Volunteer at homeless shelters.  Love your kids so hard that it's painful.  Say your prayers.  Live as good a life as you can.  And bad things will still happen to you or someone you love.  The chance of happiness can seem more remote than winning the Powerball.

Today, I didn't fight any good fights.  Or bad fights.  I just did my work and didn't breathe until 3 p.m. when I picked my son up from school.  That's my life right now.  Each day is one long held breath.  For my son, too.  Until next week Friday, when the final bell of the school year rings and my son is in my car on his way home.

The safe bet right now would be for me simply to keep my son out of school for the rest of the academic year.  No wild cards in that plan.  But I'm not sure what that would teach my son.  To give up?  To let bullies win?  To cut your losses while you have the chance?  Or just to count the days and keep your head down?

Saint Marty's son has five days left.