Growing up in Las Vegas and having a dad who used to gamble and drink before marrying Mom, we played a lot of card games. We played Poker, Blackjack or 21, Speed, Tonk, all sorts of games, but these were the ones I remember most.
I remember learning how to play Speed with a friend from fifth grade while sitting in her perfectly carpeted and furnished living room in half dark since the heat was brutal that day/week/month. I don't remember learning how to play 21 since it happened probably as soon as I learned how to count to 21 by age 5. And then Poker was another family classic we'd resort to for old-fashioned, wholesome recreation around the dining room table.
But let's talk about Tonk. That's a whole other ballgame. Dad used to work endless days sometimes in the tunnels out at the Nevada Test Site, and that meant he spent a lot of time with his work crew, working their butts off, eating, sleeping, and playing Tonk. So of course, as any good dad would do, he came home and taught all of us how to play Tonk too. We had to have a full and proper Las Vegas education, you know. This new game caught on like wildfire at our house. Not sure if it was to my mother's chagrin or what, but that's all we wanted to do half the time when we weren't outside baking in the hot summer sun with our friends.
One thing led to another, and we all started betting. Gambling with trinkets of our own, and pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters. And next thing you know, we were running gambling tabs. Looking back, I think the tabs were Dad's idea. These gambling tabs were for 99-cent breakfasts at the Skyline Casino in Henderson. The abstractness of it being a breakfast and not dollar amounts seemed to make the practice a little less shady. Tally marks on a page. That's all. I mean breakfasts are a good thing. You could order one with biscuits and gravy and eggs, pancakes and eggs, toast and eggs, and then you had your choice of ham, bacon, or sausage. They were delicious and decent sized breakfasts for not quite a dollar.
The last game before the big lesson came when I fell into a losing streak. Tonk was kicking my butt. Actually, my dad was. Hindsight tells me he probably just stopped letting me win to teach me a lesson. I remember the tally marks on my tab were insane. Then we played for double or nothing. High stakes business right there—and I lost. I told Dad I had just enough babysitting money leftover to buy us a breakfast, and I'd begin the process of weekly breakfasts as soon as I got a babysitting job to pay for them. And we went out for the first payment.
It was nighttime as we walked in, and the casino was extra smoky. If you have been to the Skyline Casino in Henderson during the 80s, you'd probably ask if it ever was not extra smoky. I noticed this atmosphere as we got seated in the half-lit, extra smoky booth with dark red vinyl upholstery. We ordered our food and talked and ate and talked, even though now, I cannot recall what we talked about except what came up when the bill got dropped on the table and I sat there counting out my coins to pay for our food. I had it all counted out, piled on top of the ticket, and I felt so broke. I had to spend all of my money but a few pennies on our two 99-cent breakfasts. I did feel a morsel of satisfaction about trying to make good on my bets though. It was this strange sense of being glad I had a spoon to dig myself out of a 6-foot grave. Then Dad started talking.
I don't remember exactly what he told me, but I remember the gist of it all. I haven't and won't ever forget it. He told me to put my money away because he was going to pay for our breakfasts if I promised to remember what it felt like to be in so much debt to someone over nothing but a game. My first and long-lasting lesson about the evils of gambling, and I was around twelve years old at the time.
My dad's lesson taught me more than just not to gamble though. He taught me about mercy and love and how to handle the money you do have. Because 99-cent breakfasts aren't just tally marks on a page.
I remember learning how to play Speed with a friend from fifth grade while sitting in her perfectly carpeted and furnished living room in half dark since the heat was brutal that day/week/month. I don't remember learning how to play 21 since it happened probably as soon as I learned how to count to 21 by age 5. And then Poker was another family classic we'd resort to for old-fashioned, wholesome recreation around the dining room table.
But let's talk about Tonk. That's a whole other ballgame. Dad used to work endless days sometimes in the tunnels out at the Nevada Test Site, and that meant he spent a lot of time with his work crew, working their butts off, eating, sleeping, and playing Tonk. So of course, as any good dad would do, he came home and taught all of us how to play Tonk too. We had to have a full and proper Las Vegas education, you know. This new game caught on like wildfire at our house. Not sure if it was to my mother's chagrin or what, but that's all we wanted to do half the time when we weren't outside baking in the hot summer sun with our friends.
One thing led to another, and we all started betting. Gambling with trinkets of our own, and pennies, nickels, dimes, and quarters. And next thing you know, we were running gambling tabs. Looking back, I think the tabs were Dad's idea. These gambling tabs were for 99-cent breakfasts at the Skyline Casino in Henderson. The abstractness of it being a breakfast and not dollar amounts seemed to make the practice a little less shady. Tally marks on a page. That's all. I mean breakfasts are a good thing. You could order one with biscuits and gravy and eggs, pancakes and eggs, toast and eggs, and then you had your choice of ham, bacon, or sausage. They were delicious and decent sized breakfasts for not quite a dollar.
The last game before the big lesson came when I fell into a losing streak. Tonk was kicking my butt. Actually, my dad was. Hindsight tells me he probably just stopped letting me win to teach me a lesson. I remember the tally marks on my tab were insane. Then we played for double or nothing. High stakes business right there—and I lost. I told Dad I had just enough babysitting money leftover to buy us a breakfast, and I'd begin the process of weekly breakfasts as soon as I got a babysitting job to pay for them. And we went out for the first payment.
It was nighttime as we walked in, and the casino was extra smoky. If you have been to the Skyline Casino in Henderson during the 80s, you'd probably ask if it ever was not extra smoky. I noticed this atmosphere as we got seated in the half-lit, extra smoky booth with dark red vinyl upholstery. We ordered our food and talked and ate and talked, even though now, I cannot recall what we talked about except what came up when the bill got dropped on the table and I sat there counting out my coins to pay for our food. I had it all counted out, piled on top of the ticket, and I felt so broke. I had to spend all of my money but a few pennies on our two 99-cent breakfasts. I did feel a morsel of satisfaction about trying to make good on my bets though. It was this strange sense of being glad I had a spoon to dig myself out of a 6-foot grave. Then Dad started talking.
I don't remember exactly what he told me, but I remember the gist of it all. I haven't and won't ever forget it. He told me to put my money away because he was going to pay for our breakfasts if I promised to remember what it felt like to be in so much debt to someone over nothing but a game. My first and long-lasting lesson about the evils of gambling, and I was around twelve years old at the time.
My dad's lesson taught me more than just not to gamble though. He taught me about mercy and love and how to handle the money you do have. Because 99-cent breakfasts aren't just tally marks on a page.
What a touching story and what a wonderful way for your dad to teach a lesson. I love how it taught you about more than just the evils of gambling. You captured the hot summer days so well, I could feel the desert heat and the need to stay in half dark rooms.
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