Bowling

Like many father-daughter relationships, I was ‘Daddy’s little girl’, his princess, and the one who almost gave him a heart attack. It wasn’t intentional and I didn’t even know it was happening. I was sixteen and a member of my Mom’s bowling league. Yes, they were desperate for bowlers and since my Dad worked and my Mom didn’t have her license, I was the only means of transportation. I had a blast bowling with all these ‘old’ people, some even in their 50’s, listening to them complain about my generation with all their crazy Rock ‘n Roll music, dungarees, flat shoes with bobby socks, and Elvis. “What is this generation coming to?” was a frequent remark.

This one Wednesday night, our team was fighting for first place. I stepped up and threw my first strike, then came the second and the third. I’ve had three strikes in a row before so no one got excited. Then came the fourth and the fifth strikes. I looked around and realized the bowling alley had become quiet and bowlers from the other lanes had started to huddle around the back of my lane. Among the crowd was my Dad pacing around and wiping the sweat off his brow while trying to remain calm. I waved but he gave me ‘the look’ meaning, pay attention, concentrate, and stop talking! Strikes six, seven, and eight followed. Now, you could hear a pin drop. My Dad was gripping the rail in the back so hard I could see his white knuckles from where I was standing. Strike nine, strike ten, and then the final frame. Dad stood ramrod straight clutching his hand to his chest, eyes closed in prayer. Tenth frame, first ball a strike. Two more strikes and I would achieve the ultimate in bowling – a perfect game of 300. Next ball – a strike. One more. I stood on my mark, aimed at the board I’ve been hitting all night, and made my approach. The ball rolled over the board, hit in the pocket, and 9 pins flew while one stood upright never wavering…299. I turned to walk back to the bench to the sound of people cheering, my Mom crying, and my Dad with the biggest grin I think I’ve ever seen. The game wasn’t perfect, but the night was.

Over the next thirty-five years, I bowled on and off on various leagues even making it to nationals before finally giving away my ball and shoes to another perfect game hopeful. Time has marched on. Our 55+ community has a bowling league and with visions of that 299 game still in my head, I jumped at the chance to be a substitute. First game, first frame – 6 pins and then a gutter ball followed leaving more pins standing than falling down. First two games I didn’t break 100. In the third game when I strung two strikes together, I looked behind me and swore I saw my Dad grinning ear to ear.

Doing Something Special

The fabric of our lives is woven by many people. Whether family, friends or strangers, all leave their footprints on our hearts, our souls and in our thoughts. For the most part, we never realize, nor do they, the impact a word, a gesture or even a well-placed kick in the butt will have.


I was reminded of this by a good friend. Nancy and I met eight years ago when she started dating Stew. Stew, a business associate and friend for over thirty years is unique, intelligent and, at that time, on the lookout for ‘that special person’. He found her in Nancy. Equally intelligent and unique, she brought to their relationship balance, a beautiful spirit, sanity and an array of talents to include being a gourmet chef, a businesswoman, and an artist. At dinner, she told us a story that, for me, was awesome and an example of her ‘specialness’.
While riding a train to New York to visit art museums, Nancy and her artist friends noticed the conductor. A tall gentleman, with a warm smile, full head of dark head and a beard. He so resembled the postmaster painting by van Gogh that Nancy asked to take a picture with him. He chuckled at both taking a picture together and the idea of him resembling a van Gogh painting.


Later that evening, when showing Stew the picture, Nancy relived the brief encounter and thought I’ll paint his portrait! And that’s just what she did. After it was completed, the next step would be to give it to him. But how? She knew two things – his first name, Brian, from the badge he wore, and the train schedule from Philly to NY, at least for the day and time she took it. The detective kicked in. After many calls, explaining why she was trying to connect with a conductor named Brian, and that she wasn’t a stalker, she found an employee who knew both the conductor and his schedule. As fate would have it, his train would be at 30th Street Station within the next hour. Off she went, picture in hand, to meet the train and hoping she’d be able to find him. You see, the platform at 30th Street Station is a block long and the train stops for only two minutes to board and un-board passengers. The stars must have been aligned because Brian stepped off the train right where Nancy was standing. She gave him the portrait, took another photo and off he went. Nancy did something special and unexpected for a complete stranger. She has a wonderful memory and Brian has an original Gordon painting.


Opportunities to demonstrate our ‘specialness’ are all around us. Perhaps in this year, we should do something special, by our words or actions, for someone we know or a complete stranger. Who knows, maybe an ounce of ‘specialness’ will change the world.