Bowling

For about half of his life, Zan has been asking me to take him bowling, and we finally got around to it over the weekend. The bowling alley we went to is the same one where I attended an afternoon youth-bowling league when I was—heck, I don’t even remember. Eleven? Twelve? (Yes, I was in a bowling league as a child. Nothing gets you into the cool-kid clique faster than being in a bowling leaugue.)

When he rolled the ball down the alley, it would ricochet from the bumper rail on one side to the bumper rail on the other side, sometimes completing three ricochets before finally striking some pins. (And I feel it’s important for me to acknowledge here that the bumpers also helped me avoid two or three gutter balls. Apparently, I’ve lost my touch over the past quarter century of bowling inactivity.)

He started to lose interest by around the fifth frame, but we hung in there and finished the string (that’s bowling lingo … also known as “dorkese”). On his final turn, he successfully used his three balls to knock down all 10 pins.

After we finished, we walked next door to the pizza place and grabbed a couple slices and sodas. Just the boys, as we say.

I can’t believe how grown up he is. I need to make a point of doing more stuff like that with him … and to not make him wait so long when he suggests it.