C’s grandmother was out gambling at MBS last night, much to her dismay. Apparently it was her 3rd night in a row, and with a $100 levy per 24 hour block, C’s mother’s head did some shaking too. I told C not to get too worked up about the situation. She’s an old woman, who is lonely and has a love for gambling. If she knows her limits when she goes in, and does not come out without the roof over her head, so be it. As long as it makes her happy.
For a long time, actually, for as long as I could remember it, I have told my dad not to drink. I’d call him up (when he first got a cell) to remind him. Remind him before he left the house, complain when he got home (swaying side to side). The cycle weekly, unto deaf ears it fell. Till recently, (I think when my dad hit 60), I come to a point whereby I leave him to do his drinking free of my nuisance. I sometimes pick him up from the bar he drinks at, to ensure he does not drink and drive. Whatever makes the man happy. He is an old man, who feels like he managed to cheat death when he’s alive at 64, instead of 6 feet under before he is 50 like my grandfather and my great grandfather and great greats before him. For a few good years, I cut out the nagging, just gentle reminders to moderate the drinks. Live and let live, because we’re all trying to be happy in this convoluted world.
That is until a couple of months ago, where his heart specialist told him to stop, else face the prospective of a failed heart. And so it begins.