When I was about 10 years old, my dad made me promise that—as soon as I turned 21—the two of us would go on a father/daughter trip to Las Vegas. The pact stipulated that it would be just him and me making our way to Sin City—it would not include any kind of boyfriend, or buddy, and certainly not my mother. At the time, 21 seemed like fiction to me. I was still figuring out multiplication tables and it was hard to think a decade ahead to a time when I would no longer be belabored by math and old enough to drink and gamble as well. But at the same time, even at 10, I understood my father was serious, and that a large amount of trust was being entwined in this promise. Keep reading »
