We went bowling on Saturday night with another couple who we really like and don’t see enough. Walking into the bowling alley, it was a wave of familiarity. I spent a lot of time as a pre-teen in bowling alleys. Every Sunday night, in fact. All of us, my ever-pregnant mom and my stepdad and me and sometimes my brother James, would pile into the car and head over for 6:00-9:00 pm Blue Chip Bowling. I had a crush on the awkward restaurant cashier, whose family, I was convinced, owned the place. He was really dorky but so nice and polite. My stepdad would walk in with his 6-pack under arm, tossing the empties into the trash. He liked to drink one or two on the drive over. We’d get our shoes and choose our bowling balls and drop all our crap on the bench BEHIND the lane. I was a runt and had trouble getting enough strength behind my rolls. I studied hard all those hours sitting on the bench, watching people drink and smoke and bowl and tell crude jokes.
This last Saturday was just like that again. I walked in and felt right at home. We got our shoes and picked out balls and settled in at the sleepy corner of the place. The lane that shared our semi-circle of space consisted of a gaggle of kids between the ages of 4 – 13. There were no adults. They bowled with the bumper lane up, so that they would never have a gutter ball. They were so quiet, and they didn’t have anyone to show them how to bowl. They watched us intently. When I put my hand on the air vent, the older of the girls asked, “Is that for luck?” I said, “Yeah, it’s for luck and for when my hand feels sticky.”
As they prepared to leave, the youngest girl of the bunch, she must have been 4 years old, with pink plastic clips holding her delicate corn rows and a shy smile, ran over and hugged me. Her skinny little arms outstretched and wrapped around my seated waist. I reached down and hugged her. As she pulled back, I didn’t want to let her go. She was so pure and loving and beautiful, as she stepped away she looked embarrassed. I was overwhelmed and flattered that she chose me to run up to and hug. On our way home, I kept asking my husband, “That little girl was so sweet. She just came up and hugged me. Why do you think she hugged me?” He was taken with her too. “The little pancakey, she was sweet and her face was very pretty. She must have felt safe with you."
