“My childhood was just like anyone else’s. I was an only child, my father had a gambling addiction, so we had no money in the house and my parents were always arguing. Once my father left my mother became depressed and could go for days not even speaking to me. Just a normal childhood – like everyone else.”
That was the answer I gave to the first counsellor I ever met. I had come to see “Marriage Guidance” after I had left my first wife – and couldn’t understand why I felt so down about it. I had expected to be talking about her drinking, my trying to control it and failing miserably. Instead, the counsellor seemed more interested in stuff that had gone on years before.
It does seem strange that my father was such a big gambler and it had made all our lives so miserable. Why on earth would I want to go down the same path myself? The simple truth is that at first, I didn’t see what I was doing as gambling.
My father was a sport’s betting man – specifically horse-racing, though he would have a punt on the football pools most Saturday nights. The only time I ever saw him gamble was at the funfairs which came around to our small town twice a year. There, he would give me a few pennies to join him on the “Penny Falls machines” and the old tick-tack-toe pull handle, fruit slots. It was rare for us to spend any time together – we didn’t get on. I tended to side with my mother in the arguments around the house, especially on the occasions when my piggy-bank had been raided for the few pence they contained to feed his habit.
I had never been inside a betting shop – and never did whilst my own gambling was getting out of control, confining myself to “penny arcades” pub machines and later casinos.
I have been asked if there is a genetic component to my addiction; like father, like son and the honest answer is that I don’t know. There is some evidence I think, for this – but then is that part of the nature / nurture debate? I grew up in a gambling family; it was, (in the correct usage of the word,) what I was familiar with.
A first memory of gambling
One of my earliest memories of gambling on my own – came from my early teens. I was one of the school librarians, a role I took on slightly because of my love of books – but more practically because it meant I could go home later and not have to be near the bullies at the bus-stop. As a reward for our endeavours – the teacher in charge of the library and a colleague decided to take the two other “librarians” and myself on a day trip to North Wales – which was something really special for me – as I never could afford to go on the many school trips the Grammar School put on.
I had managed to persuade my mother to give me some shillings for the trip. Just enough for an entrance fee somewhere if needed – and after an educational day visiting slate mines etc – the five of us turned up at a small restaurant for a meal. Here I looked at the menu and panicked. I knew I didn’t have enough for any main course – so had to plan whether to just choose a first course or a dessert – as I didn’t have the cash for anything else. I chose (wait for it …) dessert – and although the teachers were surprised I wasn’t having anything, I was allowed to wait whilst the others tucked in, although I was starving. I was so hungry that I decided I couldn’t watch any more and went to the toilet. On the way there was a slot machine. It occurred to me that if I was to spend some of my money in the contraption, that I could win enough for a main and at least eat. I decided to keep enough back for ice-cream and gamble the rest. There was no fairy-tale ending. I lost the lot, though I still retained the ice-cream money – and boy did I enjoy the ice-cream. Of course, the teacher’s decided that the meal was part of the treat and paid for all of us. If only if they had said that ahead of time!
But somehow that incident stayed with me and for some reason when I had money later in life (I started work at 16) going back to the machines to “make them pay” seemed to get hold of me. I became a gambler very early. For many years, through my first few jobs and my first marriage – I gambled normally, in as much as playing slots is normal. I played on occasions, didn’t get into debt (I worked up into a high paying job) and didn’t cause anyone else any problems. Then several things came together to bring me to my annus horribilis – but that is the story of another post.
Blame ...
I am not blaming my childhood for my addiction. I am not blaming my father for being a compulsive gambler himself – nor for introducing me to the machines. I think I would have found them anyway. But I do remember hearing the rows my parents were having and putting my fingers in my ears and humming to myself to drown out the noise.
Then think about being in an arcade, playing slots. Nothing else matters. All your senses are taken up with the sounds and the flashing lights – waiting for the reels to drop – duh, duh, durrrh. Then the feeling of elation (occasionally) or disappointment (more often.) Nothing else matters. The pain of being overlooked at work, of being cheated on in a marriage, of being lonely, of the spiralling, out of control debt. Whilst in the mode – all you want to do is gamble to keep those other thoughts, those other feelings at bay. My ears are filled with the sounds of the machines, my eyes blinded from all but the pulsing lights aimed at keeping you interested, invested. No clocks, no windows, no outlet to the “real” world.
But eventually I had to come out, blinking, into the everyday – the debts hadn’t gone away – they had increased and the other matters had just been put off.
It took me several years to really deal with the troubles in my childhood and to look at my part in the other problems I had in life, instead of trying to blot them out. Maybe it took the need for me to recover from gambling to do this – to set me on the journey of self-discovery that has taken most of my life. I don’t know for sure – but I do know I prefer being gambling free and I am a living example of the motto that it is never too late to have a happy childhood!
