One of the darker chapters of my life is coming to an end. And although I can think of many, many good things ... well, uhhh, maybe not many, many ... just many good things ... Yes ... although, looking back now, I can think of many good things that have happened, I find that this time has left me bereft of the passion that I thought could be revived.
I am saddened, but the future is bright because I am moving on. I have made a decision. I will not be looking back on the experience with regret because it has brought me to a place where I can say that I have achieved significant milestones along the way, which will prepare me for the path I will take ... some may say that it is the wrong path, but who can be the judge of that at this stage of the journey.
Alas, tonight I bid a not-so-fond farewell to kegling. I will bowl competitively no more. If I am asked to roll a game of bumper bowling, I will surely not refuse; but if I am asked to participate in a league, in a tournament, or on an alley with gutters, I will eschew the opportunity. I have, in fact, snubbed my teammates the last two weeks, preferring to work on some home remodeling projects, seriously slashing two fingers and suffering other injuries in the process, but enjoying it more than rolling that swirly pink ball that I am compelled by the rules of the game to touch.
Tonight is the finale. I will bid adieu to Ken, the mainstay of our team, who has an average of 210, even though he takes that silly little hop step at the end of his approach, and who bowled the high series in the league and a 285 game, both of which I did not witness because of my utter disdain for the sport. I can say that I did witness bowling perfection -- a 300-game -- by Jim, who takes bowling and life a little too seriously for me.
And me, you ask? What about me? I rolled a 192 in one game, the highest in my recollected history. But more than that one stratospheric line on the scoring sheet, more than my average that was lower than most of the women's averages and almost as much as Big Gene's waist size, what was truly wonderful about this experience was that I spent a lot of time with an 18-year-old, who I thought was still a kid when we started out, but who turns out to be quite a man. This stupid game that I hate was the vehicle that brought me closer to the Jackal.
I'll thank him tonight for asking me to be on the team.
Posted by Bill at August 19, 2004 01:33 PMI hate these posts. They make me cry. What a good dad you are, Bill. :-)
Posted by: lucy at August 19, 2004 07:23 PMEven if your high game had been 45 and even if your team finished in the basement and even if your thumb swelled to twice normal size, you will always remember what you walked away with after every game.
Posted by: Philip at August 20, 2004 10:32 AMGlad you took a chance and got closer to Jax. He's a great kid/man. You're a great dad. Are you wearing one of those sexy jumpsuits bowling like John Turturro's character in Lebowski?
Posted by: Keri at August 20, 2004 01:05 PM