My parents enjoyed bowling when I was younger. I enjoyed them bowling too. On Friday nights, each bowled in a league, one right after the other. My sister and I sometimes were allowed to go to the bowling alley. On the other nights, we spent the evening at my maternal grandparents' house and had a great time. We watched the Dukes of Hazzard and Dallas and then mom would be there to take us home unless we could successfully beg her to leave us there.
I'm sure my bowling abilities (inabilities?) made my parents question if perhaps I'd been switched at birth. I just never could quite get my act together. Try as they might, I constantly hooked it or guttered it or otherwise muffed it. And, we never played with bumpers so, you can imagine the many ways a kid could screw up that scenario.
A couple weekends ago, M1 planned and executed a wonderful surprise birthday party for her bestie. It took place at a local bowling alley and it was immediately apparent that M2 enjoyed herself and, like pretty much any other physical activity she's ever tried, she was a natural. Today, she bowled a 70. For only her second or third time bowling, that's pretty impressive in my book given that I bowled a lot as a kid and probably didn't break 100 until I was in high school. And, as competitive as my children can be with themselves (hmmm, wonder how they developed that trait?), bowling has been fun for them so far.
It could be the novelty of it. Or the shoes. Or the pizza and french fries. Not sure, but it was a nice way to spend an hour after school today. I have a feeling we'll be doing it again soon. The only blip in the girls' book was that Daddy couldn't come too, but we'll have to try it on a weekend sometime, I suppose.
At least my parents can now rest in the knowledge that the bowling gene is safe in its steward--a nearly nine-year-old little sports fiend.