I absolutely refuse to do the smallest act of gambling.

I don’t buy lottery tickets and don’t even buy a chance from the sweet little neighbor. I just give him a donation so I can keep my conscience clear.

Here’s why.

My grandfather was a gambler. Big time. He was always looking for someone to play poker with him. I warned my husband not to play cards with him. But he tried to appease my grandfather and soon had empty pockets.

My grandfather came here from a poor section of Southern Italy. But somehow, (no one knows how) he arrived here with enough money to buy a big property in the section called Little Italy. It included a popular corner bar, small restaurant and an upstairs apartment for my grandfather and his family.

For a while he was King of the Hill. He tended bar while his wife cooked Italian meals in the kitchen.

Unfortunately, he wanted to be a king, not a worker. He hired someone else to tend bar so he could spend more time playing poker. It might have worked if his gambling addiction didn’t get out of control.

One night he was losing heavily in the poker game but he wouldn’t stop. He gambled away every bit of cash from the register. He lost it all but still wouldn’t stop.

His poker buddies said, That’s enough, Salvadore. You lost all your money. Now it’s time to quit for the night.”

Instead, he did one of the most foolish things he could have done.

He pulled out the deed to the hotel and said it was double or noting. He was putting the deed to the hotel on the line.

Again, he lost it all.

It was one of those nights that would live forever in community infamy.

The successful poker player took the deed then told my grandfather he had 24 hours to vacate the premises.

That meant 24 hours to clear out and find a home for his family. All he could find was an abandoned shack next to the railroad tracks. They went from doing well to extreme poverty. They never did recover.

From what we were told years later, we learned my grandfather kept gambling with whatever he was able to earn in the local brewery. My grandmother had to make and sell dollies to buy food. The local grocer tells stories about feeling sorry for my grandmother when she came into his shop to ask for a bone to make soup.

On top of all that, my grandfather was mean to his wife and five kids. I won’t even go into those stories. But I will say that his children went on to do OK. They took care of their mother but they never wanted anything to do with my grandfather.

Most of all that was before my time, so to speak. While I knew there was sufficient reason why my mother and her sisters didn’t want my grandfather in their home, I felt sorry for him.

When I bought my own car I drove my grandfather wherever he wanted to go.

I thought his gambling days were over.

Wrong.

When my grandfather died of stomach cancer, I was furious at a story going around the Italian community. One of his old cronies told me my grandfather’s last night was spent crawling on his hand and knees to get to the poker game at the gas station.

I had to hear it from the other players before I could believe it.

So now you might understand why I have such an aversion to gambling in any form. I won’t even buy a scratch-off lottery ticket.

But here’s the scary truth that I discovered in old age.

It’s impossible not to gamble.

Life is a gamble.

While I would never gamble my house away like my grandfather did, I have come to realize living here in Florida is a gamble.

For a long time I was able to convince myself I’ll be fine. After all, there wasn’t a hurricane in my community for more than 49 years. We were told that we were protected by the so-called “dome” that was supposed to cover us. Turned out not to be true.

In 2022, Hurricane Ian destroyed my house.

It took two years and every last nerve in my body to rebuild and get anything from the insurance company.

At the time, my husband had a house in Port Charlotte, and we thought with the two houses we wouldn’t have to worry about a place to live in case a hurricane hit again.

Wrong.

Less than two years later, Hurricane Helene and Hurricane Marco pounded David’s home. Again, everything was destroyed by floodwater and hurricane winds.

Many people here have had enough.

Up and down our communities homes have for sale signs.

Many are moving, while others are still trying to sell their home.

Meanwhile, by staying here, I’m a gambler.

I’m gambling that the next hurricane won’t hit the home I rebuilt.

I’m gambling only because after sinking my money into rebuilding my home, and with our limited mobility I don’t have an option.

I’m still searching for one.

Meanwhile, I’m dreading hurricane season.

My grandfather gambled with cards.

I’m gambling with Mother Nature.

Maybe we’re all gamblers in some way.

What do you think?

Email Pattie Mihalik at newsgirl@comcast.net