My dad bought a lotto ticket each week for maybe thirty-five years.
Every Saturday morning, after grocery shopping, Mum would wait with the trolley as he went into the newsagents for his usual 12 game ticket and a caravan magazine. They’d go home, put away the shopping and make a sandwich for lunch, usually ham, cheese, and pickle. Then Mum would settle down with her book, while dad put Aker Bilk on the stereo and pulled out his magazine.
He dreamed of touring around Australia in a Winnebago – the huge and luxurious American motorhome that comes with a hefty price tag.
He dreamed of winning the lotto so he could afford it.
My dad died on Tuesday 7 September 2021. It was a little more than a year after mum passed away and two days before their 60th wedding anniversary. He wasn’t particularly sick, but he was tired. Tired of having Parkinson’s Disease and tired of living without mum. To everyone’s shock, he just slipped out of his body and left us.
Dad never had a big win on the lotto – he didn’t even have many small wins.
He didn’t hit the road and see Australia in retirement. Mum was willing to go. Even though they couldn’t afford the Winnebago, there was enough in the savings for a comfortable caravan.
But dad said no. He didn’t want to do it.
Not to dad – he had lived and relived his dream every week for 35 plus years, thanks to a lotto ticket and a magazine.
And I think I would rather dream of doing something and then not do it than never dream at all.
How about you?