We took the girls ten pin bowling over the weekend and immediately noticed how things had changed.
We played in a lane with bumpers making it impossible to ever get a gutter ball and be laughed out of the alley.
We also played with an apparatus resembling a walker that we called “the helper” where you placed your ball on the top of the metal slide and the ball would roll in the direction of your choosing.
Essentially the game of bowling had been replaced with a huge dose of No-Hard-Feelings-Ball not unlike at the skating rink where you can rent the same walker-type contraption to keep from ever having to actually skate.
Our girls were predictable in their actions at the alley.
With each ball, Ellie jumped just barely off the shellacked floor never getting her vertical over the one inch mark but what she lacked in height, she made up for in enthusiasm and holds the current record for number of jumps before the ball finally gave a gentle caress of an end pin and teetered enough to knock it down followed by a raucous round of cheers and high fives.
With each ball, Hanna’s face grew tense with frustration. She closed her eyes or turned her back to the pins until she heard the clattering of fallen soldiers behind her. Only then would she take a one-eyed peak at the results of her efforts and would never be happy with anything less than a strike.
Ellie’s up again and she’s squiggling and giggling in her funky shoes.
Hanna is now covering her head with her coat to avoid the let down of a single, standing pin.
Car-seat baby has been promoted to the stroller and angrily squints when any ball slams down on the floor or she catches a whiff of the rented shoes.
Ellie blows on the ball, makes wishes to continue having fun and hoists it to shoulder height like she’s holding the Stanley Cup with her name engraved across the front.
Hanna has turned the double plastic seat into a cot and is using various coats (ours and those of strangers) as blankets, not unlike a homeless person under a pile of mismatched garments lying in the street.
Our scores were not impressive and were clearly those of five strangers to bowling with no appreciation for padded lanes or directional devices.
We walked out of the alley waving to the crowds of people who may have still been playing from the night before and no longer had room on their tiny round tables for one more bottle of beer and headed out the front door.
Ellie yelped, covered her mouth and started to cry on her way to the car.
What’s wrong?
Ellie: Someone’s cigarette smoke got up my nose and now I’m going to die.
