A magical place

My dad was a horse player. I cannot tell you how disappointed I was when I became an adult and found out not everyone could leave work at 12:30 and head out to Arlington Park. As a little girl, he did not take me to movies or the ice cream shop or puppet shows. We went to the track.

It was a magical place. Dad knew a lot of trainers and owners and I could marvel at the beauty of the horses up close. I always insisted he bet on the gray ones for me.

As I got older, if I had a boyfriend he liked, we would head out to Arlington. Dad handed us a $20 - $2 for the double and $2 for each of the nine races. I don't remember anything about whether we won or lost. That was not the point.

In his 90s, my dad developed cancer. He was happy to learn his oncologist had once worked the betting windows at Arlington. Toward the end, the doctor said to him, "Joe, you have to get better so we can go out to Arlington." "Afraid not, Doc," my father replied, "I'm five and half furlongs into a six furlong race."

Rest in peace, Arlington Park.

Patricia Motto

Elmhurst