THERE are lots of moral dilemmas to face when you become a dad. For example, should you stop your children from organising a game of poker?

Jack, 11, had his friend Ben round for the afternoon and I was sent into the dining room to investigate because they were suspiciously quiet.

And there it was, in full swing: the card school. Ben, Jack and brother Christopher, 14, were sitting round the dining table, concentrating hard, with a pile of poker chips each. Christopher had got the chips in a fun pack for Christmas and ruled that they were worth five pence each.

I pictured the conversation back at Ben's house later when his mum and dad asked him if he'd had a good time:

"So, what did you get up to at Jack's house?"

"Oh, we had a serious game of poker for hard cash."

I decided it had to be stopped: "I don't think you should be playing for money," I told them.

"Shhh, Dad, I've got my best hand ever," interrupted Jack, giving the game away and making it worse by smiling broadly and bouncing up and down on his chair in wide-eyed excitement.

"You're supposed to bluff your opponents," I explained. "You have to keep a poker face."

"Yeah, I know, but this is a really good hand," he replied.

With hindsight, I should have put my foot down there and then. But I went into the kitchen to brew up some tea and consider my course of action. I didn't want to be a spoilsport but I wanted them to understand about the dangers of gambling.

My plan was to let them carry on having fun for 15 minutes and then go back in, explain how gambling can get out of control, and make sure no-one was out of pocket.

When I went back in, Max, seven, was sitting cross-legged on the table, looking glum.

"Max, what are you doing? Get off that table," I shouted.

"I can't," he muttered. "I'm a poker chip."

It transpired that Ben thought he had his best hand ever as well and neither he nor Jack would give in. It reached the point where Jack had no chips left and, in desperation, he'd offered his little brother as final collateral.

"He'll be your slave for the day," Jack had promised.

The pair of card sharks finally declared their hands. Jack, with a smug grin, laid three kings onto the table. Ben's face didn't twitch. He stared coolly at Jack for a couple of seconds, closed one eye and raised the opposite eyebrow before producing a winning flush.

Jack had his head in his hands while Max, looking even more dejected, said: "Does that mean I have to be a slave?"

There have been many times when my patience has worn so thin that I've fantasised about getting rid of Max for a while. But not like this.

I began my lecture, explaining that it was OK to play cards for fun but not for money, and certainly not for little brothers. In summary, I told them that all bets were off.

"Fine by me," conceded Ben. "I didn't want him anyway."

Max ran off with tears in his eyes. It's bad enough being a poker chip, but being a rejected poker chip is too much for any seven-year-old to bear.

THE THINGS THEY SAY

More from the Darlington Fibromyalgia Group...

MARGARET Grey's son Peter was at primary school and the teacher was trying to contact his mum.

"What's her work telephone number?" asked the teacher.

"She doesn't have one," replied Peter. "She works on the streets."

Margaret was a district nurse.

IT was harvest festival time at St Mary's Church in Cockerton, Darlington, where the children took it in turns with the collection plate.

"It's your turn to take the collection this week," Margaret told her son Peter.

She looked up a few minutes later to see Peter approaching the altar with nothing on the plate but with his pockets bulging.

"Mam, I've taken the collection," he shouted back down the aisle.

MUM Yvonne Hammond had taken ages to allay the fears of her children Nicola and John, who were about to pay their first visit to the dentist with dad John. When they came back, they were more worried then ever, both of them agreeing that there was no way they were going to have 'it' done.

"Have what done?" asked Yvonne.

"When we go back for our next appointment, he's going to put vicious eels in our mouths," Nicola cried.

It turned out that the dentist had decided they both needed fissure seals.

WHO would be a teacher? David Tait, who teaches at Esh in County Durham, had fallen awkwardly and dislocated his knee in the classroom at the end of the day. The classroom was nearly deserted but there was one boy he was able to send for help.

The boy ran down the corridor shouting: "Quick, quick, Mr Tait's broken."

In the meantime, as the teacher writhed around in agony on the floor another boy appeared at the door, saying: "Do you still want to see me Mam, Mr Tait?"

Published: 10/03/2005