My grandfather and uncle were alcoholics. My dad was a gambling addict. My dad worries that I'll end up like him, that I'll go to Vegas or Atlantic City one day and never leave.
I was twenty-one and I was in Vegas the very first time I gambled. It was my dad's game, craps. People say craps is hard, but it's easy once you know the rules. I kept winning and winning, and the first time I broke my streak —the first time, mind you—I left the table. I was able to leave because of what my dad told me.
How it helped him forget what he did in the Rangers. How when he was winning, he felt like he was on top of the world. How every time he lost, he kept on playing to win his money back. How he stopped after I was born.
He told me that after I was born, whenever he was tempted to gamble, he would remember my face, and that he was a father, and that someone was depending on him.
He still does that. He still pictures my face if it's hard to stay away.
It's not as bad for me. Don't tell him, but I'm better at poker, blackjack, craps, pool, you name it. When I start losing, usually I can get out pretty easily.
Usually.
Sometimes I'm tempted to stay, just for a little while. When that happens, I think about why I can't. I think about my family. My intelligent, crazy, wonderful family.
When I graduated from college summa cum laude and law school top of my class, both times, the only ones in the front row were my mom, stepdad, dad, stepmom, and everyone my stepmom worked with. My family.
My dad was so proud when I told him I got a job as a prosecutor and I was going to put bad guys in jail, just like him.
My half brother Chris is like my stepmom. He was the high school valedictorian. Now, he's a college sophomore and future math teacher.
My half sister Maxine is a jock like our dad and me. She's a high school junior She's also an idealistic nerd and future best-selling author.
My fiancée Emma is a cop. She is the funniest, kindest, most maddening person I have ever met.
A baby, with my (and my dad's) charm smile and Emma's gigantic green eyes, with curls like mine and red hair like hers.
A baby who will have the most intelligent, insane, wonderful family ever.
A baby who might grow up to be a federal prosecutor, like me, or a police officer like Emma.
Or an FBI agent, like my dad, or a forensic anthropologist, like my stepmom and Aunt Daisy.
Or a forensic entomologist like Uncle Hodgins, or a forensic artist like Aunt Angela.
Or a forensic pathologist, like Aunt Cam.
Or a psychiatrist like Uncle Sweets.
Or something completely different.