There is a long and honorable tradition of fathers introducing their sons to immorality and vice in the absence of a mother's protective embrace. From Bill Cosby nutritionally damaging his kids with chocolate cake for breakfast, to the almost archetypal father-son trip to the brothel on the latter's eighteenth birthday, paternal corruption has a long and storied past.
In the footsteps of those who walked before me, today I led my son into his first den of vice -- the horserace track.
It turns out, Auburn's Emerald Downs racetrack is hardly the sin city that I had hoped for. With its picturesque view of Mt. Rainier, concession stands filled with ice cream and cotton candy, and inflatable moonwalks, it was more like going to a fairgrounds than to a seedy gambling den. Where I had expected mob bosses and their mols, I got frat boys and their buxom girlfriends. Where I had hoped for desperate drifters and broken men frittering away their last two bucks on a sure thing, I got bermuda-short-clad senior citizens and soccer moms. Where I was looking for grifters and short-con artists, I just got other dads and their sons or daughters. They even have an anthropomorphic mascot, Ed the Horse, who poses for photos with the youngsters. What the hell?
In all honesty, I had been told by others that Emerald Downs was a fun place to take kids and I had been hoping to head down there for several months. When I talked with Ray about the various things we could do while Amy was away, going to the horserace track topped his list of desired activities.
He was briefly disappointed after we arrived when he learned that he wasn't going to actually get to ride any of the horses. I thought I had been pretty clear in explaining the concept to him earlier, but his mind was obviously clouded by images of himself galloping around the track astride his trusty steed. He seemed to have a pretty good time anyway, though none of the horses he picked won.
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