I have a secret passion for bowling. In fact, I've been bowling since I was ten, it's one of my favorite things, so it's easy to bloviate about the striking skills I possess.
I thought my bowling ability would be passed down to my children through genetics. I was wrong. Instead they've adopted my bowling quirks and habits, like backing up on the approach while talking to the pins.
Bowling is a sport that requires patience, focus and concentration. These are my best traits. But my kids are anxious and jumpy like rabbits. They grab the ball and waddle quickly up to the lane like fuliguline.
"Bzzzzzzzz!" The foul light turned on.
"What happened?" Rio protested. "It didn't count my pins?"
"You fouled," I bluntly pointed out. "How many times do I have to tell you not to go over the line?!" I continued to nag.
He rolled his eyes and stomped back to his chair. With crossed arms, he slumped down into his seat and stared blankly at the pins. While he doesn't possess my bowling talent, he did inherit my attitude.
"A split!" Amaya complained. "I did exactly what you told me!" She threw her arms up in the air at the injustice.
"Obviously not! Point your toe, look at your mark," I instructed her. "The blade of your hand should come up over that third arrow." My hand motioned.
It was my turn. I stood at the beginning of the approach, positioned my feet over the far right boards. I took a deep breath, my right foot led, I took three steps, I kicked my left leg behind my right and with perfect form...gutter ball.
"Well it's easier said than done."
True story! Well not exactly...let's see if you can figure it out.
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