A Man's Game

Sunday, June 16 is Father's Day. I am not a parent, and my father was in his mid-30s when I was born. Given those circumstances, I instinctively tend, as many people do, to associate the word "father" with older men, or at least middle-aged men. After all, by the time I was 9 or 10 and began to share those experiences that form the enduring father-son bond – like Little League (my dad coached) and Boy Scouts (he was also involved) – he was in fact a middle-aged man.

But that is a spurious perspective, because most fathers are young men, at least when they start out as fathers, and many of the greatest sacrifices they make for their kids are made in their youth.

There is a public service radio commercial being aired lately that I first heard several months ago; perhaps you've heard it, too. It's about fatherhood, and Tom Selleck is the voice-over spokesman. The spot ends with Selleck uttering the simple, eloquent truth: "It takes a man to be a dad." The other night I was reminded that those are more than just words.

Actually, it was the wee hours of the morning. I was at a large casino, and sitting at my table was a player, let's call him Dick, who doesn't handle losing very well. Dick is a big, muscular fellow, but alas, he's the kind of guy who gives testosterone a bad name. When things don't go his way, Dick's knee-jerk reactions (heavy on the jerk) include calling female dealers witches, as well as something that rhymes with witches. With male dealers, an ugly sense of racism sometimes creeps into his remarks, and occasionally there's even an element of violence – he's been heard to comment, in reference to dealers and other players who have displeased him: "Does he realize that I can snap guys like him in two … with one hand?" As you can see, he is a real charmer.

Dick is on a short leash with management these days, so on this occasion, he felt compelled to "upgrade" his conduct to the level of "Offensive, But Not Over the Line." A young Vietnamese dealer whom I'll call Bao was in the box when Dick suffered a couple of bad beats. Bao is one of the most conscientious dealers in the house, and I was waiting to see if Dick would berate him. But sensing that his previous behavior had put him on thin ice, Dick switched gears. Instead of his usual name-calling, he tried to bait Bao with seemingly friendly banter. I say "seemingly" because although the actual words he mouthed were sociable, they were delivered with a sarcasm that, while subtle, was also unmistakable. It was as if he were saying: "This friendliness is a put-on, you idiot. I would never be friendly to a nonentity like you. My insincerity is just another way of mocking you." It was a distasteful little display, the kind of thing that gave rise years ago to the phrase "ugly American." Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done. Big Dick was merely being a … well, let's just say that this sentence should end pretty much the same way it begins.

A little while later, while washing my hands next to him in the men's room, I told Bao that he shouldn't feel obliged to accept any abuse from Dick. Bao replied that he didn't want to get into any trouble by mixing it up with a regular. As a relative newcomer to our country and to our customs, he was still feeling his way – trying to find the line between staying out of a customer's way and upholding his own pride.

I was about to offer him a little advice on that subject, but before I had a chance, Bao continued by stating that he couldn't afford to lose his job "because my kids are counting on me. Taking care of them is much more important to me than defending myself. If I have to take some crap from people like that, it's more than worth it."

He spoke so simply, without the least bit of fanfare or posturing, but I couldn't help being struck by the quiet dignity that accompanied his words, and the look in his eye when he spoke them.

Returning to my table, I found myself thinking that you can't tell a book by its cover as I reflected on the strength I had glimpsed in Bao. It's the kind of strength that, in the face of adversity, is sustained by summoning anew the vision of the goal. Dick, on the other hand, has no such reserves to draw upon. Despite his brawn, he is a 98-pound weakling, and wears his weakness like a neon sign. This self-declared tough guy allows himself to be bullied by a girl – he is completely overpowered whenever Lady Luck kicks a little sand in his face. Lacking the strength to accept his losses like a man, he must resort to the timeless strategy of the emotionally impotent: blaming others. On this morning, the contrast between the big baby with biceps and the physically slight, unimposing figure who was now dealing two tables to my left couldn't possibly have been drawn more sharply. When Tom Selleck says, "It takes a man," he's talking about Bao. I broke into an amused smile as I remembered Dick's ludicrous assessment that he "could break guys like this in two." Not a chance, pal. You don't have what it takes.

A friend of mine once told me that the greatest gift a person can give is the one that will go forever unacknowledged. It was 4 o'clock in the morning, and while his kids were sleeping silently in their beds, Bao gave them a gift they'll never even know about, one for which he'll never take any credit.

And his timing couldn't have been better. He made me realize how much I'd like to do something a little special for my own dad this year. Take a silent bow, Bao – oh, and have a happy Father's Day.