By Faye Lippitt
I took the kids bowling today. Greg was at work, and our church group had planned a family day at the lanes long ago, so thinking it might be entertaining for the kids, we set out.
*Note to self: kids don’t need any extra entertaining. Life for them is simply a mad scramble of endless entertainment.
Before we actually started the games, the other family groups suggested that we have a little warm up. Let the kids throw a few balls just to get the feel of it.
We got the feel pretty quickly.
Eddie felt that a good way to deliver the ball was to drop it and kick it. I’ve never seen a ball creep up on a pin. Contact came just as the ball ran out of steam. The pin leaned back, and then righted itself, ball resting at its side.
Stanley felt that a better way was to push it with all his might. One after another balls made it about half way up and stopped in the gutter.
Charles threw a magnificent ball that arrived just as Jane flipped the reload button and the sweep bar dropped down. The ball hit it and ricocheted back down the alley.
Alex felt that he would get a better chance of hitting the pins if he swung the ball a few times between his legs first. Unfortunately, he let go at the wrong end of the swing and the ball flew back past some very startled players and crashed into the seats.
As this was happening, Stanley and Eddie, running out of balls due to the fact that most of them were half way up the gutter, hopped from lane to lane collecting balls.
The warm up lasted ten minutes after which it occurred to me that perhaps the folks who ran the alley might be open to giving me my money back. Our church group was very sympathetic, but no one – including the owners of the alley – tried to stop us from leaving. The only ones showing any regret were the children who left with a howl and a wail and four balls lined up in the gutter. I took that as a sign that one day they would return to the lanes. One day in the future. By themselves.
I noticed our one-year-old Elly open the cupboard and begin rooting through. As I watched, she came upon a cookie box, opened it, leaned back and gave it an enthusiastic “HI!”
We were chatting about Shakespeare the other day, and I launched into those famous “to be or not to be” lines that I remembered from Hamlet’s soliloquy. Dad turned to his 10-year-old son and said, “I’ll bet you don’t even know who wrote that”.
“Sure I do. It’s William Armstrong.”
“Close. William Shakespeare”
“Oh ya. I know that guy,” Sidney said breezily. “He wrote Mario and Juliet.”
Andy came home from school today and announced
Hey! Kelsey threw up at school today!”
The tragedy drew swift, enthusiastic reaction from his siblings
“All over herself?” squealed Jesse, thinking of the worst possible scenario.
“On her math book?” piped up a hopeful Sidney whose ideal spot was somewhere different.
“Nope,” gleamed Andy. “On her lunch!” “Gross!” came the delighted chorus.
Detecting comedy in tragedy is an art form kids have mastered.