WHEN MY FATHER lived in Florida, he won the lottery.
Twice.
He did not, however, reap the profits, and more times than I can count he told me why. The first time, he gave the winning numerical combination to my nephew, who forgot to bring it to the local newsstand where my father bought his lottery tickets. The second time, he … well, I think he did the same thing.
Twice, he would repeat, whenever I sat with him at the beach and he, in a habit he was helpless to resist, recited the vagaries of fate that kept him from realizing his true fortune. "Twice I win the lottery, and twice I don't see a dime. My luck. My mazel."
"Well, then, Dad," I'd say in reply, "you should…