To Bowl or Not to Bowl
Here in the northeast, it’s been raining for eons. Although today is our third day in a row where temps have reached above 90 degrees, which is hot, certainly, here in northern New Hampshire. This would have been a fantastic week to visit my brother and family on Martha’s Vineyard. Alas, we visited last week when the rain just would not stop. While the rain did not slow down our family fun, it did make going to the beach less attractive.
However, my dear sister-in-law, Holly, had the wherewithal to make reservations at their local bowling alley just in case we could not handle being trapped inside with one another for another single second. Now, in my day, our bowling alley experiences were dark, musty smelling, yet still recreationally fun. I even had a birthday or two celebrated at Leda Lanes with five or six of my childhood friends.
Both Geoff’s mom and my mom bowled in actual leagues, and they even carried their own balls to and from their home bowling alleys. Hardcore bowlers they were. But bowling isn’t something we’ve done much of us with our own children mostly because there isn’t one nearby, and there should be -- because I’d forgotten just how fun the sport is.
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Also, this bowling alley was quite lovely -- not at all dark, dank, or musty smelling. Even the shoes were still kind of new, and Geoff joked with the man who waited on us about not needing shoes. Our son questioned why Dad didn’t need bowling shoes, and we had to remind him of the fact that Dad’s feet never touched the ground while in his wheelchair. So, we had the kids play against one another in one lane, while my parents, brother, sister-in-law, Geoff and I bowled in the neighboring lane against each other.
My mom’s health hasn’t been 100 percent these days, so I worried about making sure the ball was light enough etc. My dad has bad knees and a bad back, so I worried he might slip or fall. Now, Geoff, I did not worry about him in the least because I knew it would take a couple of tries, but that he would eventually find the style of “bowling ball execution” that worked for him. After all, there is no one way to hurl the ball down the lane. The first few tries he kept the ball on his lap and threw sort of like a chest pass in basketball only from his lap. The next couple he actually swung from the side, and then he was able to line up more accurately with the twist of his wrist. Turns out, he was pretty good.
But in the end, Gram beat us all. Seventy-six years old, and those skills and form from her league days all came right back to her. She kicked our butts.
But I watched our kids watch their dad wondering what his technique might be. They watched their grandparents and wondered how good they might have been another day in their lives when they were younger and bowled regularly. All the watching and wondering and time together bowling made a rainy day quite beautiful.