Bowling

Our first parent involvement was in February. We had the chance to go bowling with Sasha and his classmates. I was excited ... visions of my bowling league days oh so long ago came to mind no, no .. not a great bowler more of a 'social bowler'). Should I bring my own bowling shoes? Would I wish I had a bowling ball?


We arrived at the bowling lane which I'm sure must've been really nice in it's day possibly during the horse and buggy era. The bowling alley aroma hits us as we struggled to open the doors (and we have a no smoking law here so it must be risidual). We quickly locate Sasha's class. He is in a desparately foul mood (this is two days after POOP ... see previous post) so my thoughts of a great family outting were quickly vanishing.


We grab shoes for all of us and proceed to talk to Sasha about how special shoes are needed for bowling. He sees the bright orange bowling shoes and wants no part of them. He protests "Yucky". I explain that these shoes are not meant to be a fashion statement while distant memories of a similar conversation with my Dad about snow boots comes wafting through my head ... thank God for Uggs. We put the shoes on his feet while he squirms and screams. I look around at his angelic classmates wondering how we ended up with such an uncooperative child. He starts to scream louder with tears streaming down his face as the shoes become firmly attached. He then proceeds to throw his little body on the floor. I turn to the mother of the most perfect little girl and her equally perfect baby and explain that he's having a bad day. Okay ... so it's almost a lie as I think this may be a permanent part of his personality. He is a very stubborn boy and who seems to have a very strong sense of which fashions he likes and doesn't like (vests - yucky, jeans - yea, jacket - yucky, thomas light up tennis shoes - yea).


I keep telling Sasha that we have to use these special shoes to bowl. He's not impressed or convinced. He keeps crying. We drag him out to the line with the ball and attempt to force his little arms to push the ball while he goes limp on the floor (note: this is a very difficult maneuver) while Nathan tries to get a good blogworthy photo. We cheer when the bumpers cause his ball to roll toward the pins. It hits a few pins. We cheer louder and tell him how great he did. He stops crying. We try it again. He is less limp and allows us to push the ball with him.


By the third frame, he wanted to do it all himself - get the ball, walk to the line with the ball, push the ball - everything. The challenge is that he's three and he can't carry the ball himself or pick it up himself. Wow ... this is a lot of work! Perhaps we should try this again when he's 17.

Then, the guy from the bowling alley whom I'll call Cranky Old Guy started fussing at us for Sasha crossing over the line. We thanked him for his safety tip, explain that he's three and we're trying our best while thinking that crossing the line is much prefered over going limp and screaming and proceed to the next frame. I stood by the ball return to get the ball and COG started yelling at us that Sasha would crush his fingers. I'm afraid that was more that we could take. It was time to leave.

So with the promise that we wouldn't be back to bowl in Antioch ... ever again ... and that perhaps Parent Involvement Days weren't going to be as much fun as we had hoped, we left.

A couple of weeks have passed and our next PI is next Friday - Dino Days. The bad memories have faded a bit and I hope that Sasha will be in a better mood. It could be fun ... or ... it could be very bad. We'll see.