I learned much from my father.

I began my professional writing career as a sportswriter. Thank gawd, I gave it up. Early. Because I didn't want my life to revolve around sporting events. No doubt, games of skill and chance are intriguing. Captivating. But too addictive for me. Because I began to want certain outcomes. And if the player or team that I wanted to win happened to lose, I become disappointed. Annoyed. Morose. Moody. Used to be that I didn't handle it well. Maybe a bit like a gambler. I never bet money on outcomes. But I did bet my emotions. And that wasn't good. For me. Or the people around me. I remain a sports fan. Especially of the Chicago Cubs and the Chicago Bears. But I've learned to control my emotions. Especially the negative ones. I can still become momentarily annoyed over an outcome. But it's only momentary. I put it all into quick perspective. Knowing that outcomes are completely out of my control. Things happen. Largely by chance. And I accept that. And besides, it's only a game. My father was an habitual gambler. He allowed his emotions to spin out of control. He could become elated when he gambled, and won. But he would become melancholy/depressed when he'd lose a bet. And he lost big sums of money. He became addicted to gambling. And became so depressed that he committed suicide. Some psychoanalysts believe that many habitual gamblers have a death wish. They like to take risks. For the momentary euphoria that it brings. But they pay a terrible price. Depression when they lose. Depression that can lead to suicide. My father never learned to cope. Never learned to put his life into proper balance. I've lived twice as long as my father. And I'm planning on sticking around even longer. Unlike my father, I am in no hurry to check out. I know the things I can't control. And I don't let that bother me. Instead, I put my focus on what I can control. My attitudes. I can choose to be positive and happy. Sure beats being negative and unhappy. I think my father made a poor choice. I'm avoiding his mistakes. He taught me well. Without knowing it. In that way, his suicide was a blessing. My blessing. Because I learned much from it. --Jim Broede