A Day At The Races

A Day at the RacesMy Father was born in 1889. He is 105 years old today, which means that Barbara and I are going to take him to the racetrack.My father usually wins a lot of money at the races. He claims to have a genetic theory of judging horseflesh. He calls it skill. I call it the luck of the wicked, but not to his face, of course.The man is amazing. He walks two miles on the beach every morning. He does t'ai chi for an hour after breakfast. He watches his investments like a hawk, and that's...