My father bet on horses

November 13, 2017

Soon after arriving in Portland 22 years ago, I began coming to Grants Pass to visit my father. He’d suffered a minor stroke while recovering from surgery to remove a lung tumor and I wanted to spend time with him.

He’d recovered fairly well, but the stroke took his affinity with numbers. Still, he enjoyed coming to Grants Pass Downs to bet on horse racing.

I joined him a couple of times during his twilight years, even though I couldn’t care less about horse racing; spending time with him meant accompanying him wherever he wanted to go.

One time, he’d placed a bet and came out to watch the race. As the horses were loading into the gate, he looked at the lineup board, stared down at his ticket, then turned to me and asked if he’d bet a specific two-horse quinella.

I told him he had picked two different numbers instead. He swore a bit, and as he turned to head back to the betting window, the bell rang; the race was underway.

His ticket was worthless, but the moment notched a memory for me that came back this past weekend.

As my wife and daughter were shopping at the indoor farmers market at the Josephine County Fairgrounds, I wandered the area along the backstretch of the racetrack, discovering a fondness for the track I didn’t have before my father lost his bet.