Bowlerama

"So," I asked as I climbed out of the car. "Do you want to wait a minute or are you heading out?"

My wife shook her head and said "You guys have fun."

Zack and I turned and trudged over the icy, snow-covered asphalt and into the doors of the Bowlerama. The occasion was the 6th birthday of one of Zachery's friends from school - it was bowling-party time!

I don't know if you've been inside a bowling alley lately but barring the addition of the video arcade, it is like taking a long, slow leap back in time. From the day-glo color of the carpets, the plastic decorative accoutrements to the long formica counters, it is literally the 1960's redux. All that was missing was a platinum-bleach blonde and indoor smoking... I suspect that in twenty-odd years, when Zack is dealing with his own little big man, he'll be strolling through a bowlerama and probably experience that same surreal time-shift.

We trudged down the stairs to the lower level, shedding winter clothes as we went. The familiar rumbling crash that is the aural signature of the bowling alley grew steadily louder. The lower level offered both ten-pin and five-pin bowlng, as well as a "party-room" for the kids to scream, yell and chase one another around with balloons. Zack and I were very familiar with the locale as we had been to several previous birthday parties at this particular bowling alley.

We headed over the corner, where a loud group sof scrambling children were racing about, some even pausing to throw a few bowling balls down the lane in their spare moments. We stopped several feet away, staring in puzzlement.

Zachery's friend Colin, whose birthday party this was, was nowhere in evidence. Neither were any of zack's other friends, of whom I would have expected to recognize at least one or two...

A nasty sense of unease began to creep through me. Zack, eyes wide with nervousness, followed along behind me as we checked in with the bowling desk. The woman behind the counter (blonde but not platinum blonde) checked the booking register and informed with a substantial twinkle in her eyes that Colin's party was on Sunday.

I looked at Zack. Zack looked at me.

"What do we do now Daddy?" he asked forlornly.

"Gosh-darn it all lil' Big Man - we BOWL!" I said with enthusiasm, trying to turn this mistake into something fun, partly because I felt bad about messing up the timing, partly just to keep him from crying over the lack of the party and the absence of his friends, and partly because my wife was not expected back for another hour-and-a-half...and what else can you do at a bowling alley?

So we bowled.

Zack alternated his style from the traditional kids "two-handed heave" to the wild single-handed toss (one that reverberated through the whole alley and made heads turn several lanes away. Unfortunately, the tosses were mostly vertical...). After a shaky first few frames, he started to get the hang it. Kids "side rails" on the alley helped, keeping the bowling balls out of the gutter and forcing every shot to at least stay in the lane until it reached the general area of the pins.

I spent my time vainly trying out my best "twinkle-toes" Flintstone bowling delivery,which failed to even elicit a smile from Zack but seemed to impress the hell out of the four-year old girl in the next lane. By the second game, Zack was starting to pay attention to his score and by the third game, he was adding up every throw, hoping to beat me.

I'm not a great bowler. I'm not particularly horrible either but unless I wanted to bowl more than once every four or five years I'm unlikely to ever improve. Although, I have to admit, looking at the physiques of the league bowlers at the other side of the alley, I could believe this was a sport for me - provided I ate about 38 pounds worth of chicken wings, donuts and beer to get myself in the proper shape.

Zack was up a solid twenty points, mainly due to my deliberate aiming at the corner pins and then throwing my second and third shots through the holes. I wanted to give him a win. I know that tacitly a win has to be earned to matter. Throwing a game to someone is actually cheating them of the opportunity to earn that win but, let's face it, he's five. There will plenty of opportunity to teach him about losing gracefully when he's older and at times its vicarious fun to watch your son enjoy a little victory.

After about 5 frames, the trouble hit. I accidently bowled not one, but two strikes in a row, and then compounded the error with a spare. Zack, who had been joyfully riding high, was suddenly down a good thirty points. Since he generally only ever scored at most 10 points per frame, he would have serious problems catching up with Dad.

Then I made a fatal discovery - it is deucedly hard to throw the game, when the side rails are set up. No matter how bad I threw the ball, it was still going to knock down at least one pin. I couldn't gutter the ball. On the eight frame I tried in vain to edge the ball past the pins to score nothing but on the very first ball, it bounced off the side rails into the center of the lane and dropped three pins. Zack only managed to knock down one, and the promptly sent his next two balls right through the narrow hole between pins.

While he was shooting, I wandered over to the computerized score sheet and tried to see if I could fiddle it. Damn technology anyway - what the hell was wrong with good, old fashioned scoring projectors! Everything else in the place was from 1965, even the ashtrays built into the lane tables - whyinthehelldotheyneedcomputers!!

With no way to tweak the score from the socreboard end and no way to gutter a ball, I needed to take drastic action. "Zack, is that your Mommy?" I said pointing, When he turned to look I frantically tried to gutter three balls in quick succession, earning some quizzical looks from the next lane.

Zack stared at me puzzled. "I don't see Mommy. Where is she?"

"Oh, sorry Zack, my mistake. Your shot."

Zack tossed his last set of bowling balls, with a grand grunt and flourish of sliding, slipping sock-clad feet.

I didn't even bother with subterfuge this time, I just tossed all three balls quickly over the side rail and into the gutter as fast as possible, Zack eyeing me suspiciously but not really understanding what I was doing.

We tallied up the final score. Daddy - 108, Zachery 109. Yah!

We headed over to the snack bar to return my bowling shoes and grab lunch before his mother arrived to pick us up.

"You know Daddy, I'm a pretty good bowler." Zachery said innocently.

"Yes you are." I replied.

"Did you let me win?" he asked.

"No Zachery, I didn't. You earned every point you got." I hedged.

"Oh." he said. "You know Daddy, I'm a pretty good bowler." he said again a slightly proud undertone creeping into his words.

"Yes, Zachery, yes you are." and we headed off for lunch.

Comments are always welcome. You can reach me at dadchronicles(at)hotmail.com.