I’ve Got a Bowling Angel

That's my dad - third from the right.

Short. True Story.

I recently joined my town’s weekly bowling league. My kids tell me it’s a good thing for me to do to get out there and meet new people.

“Why not?” I thought.

So last night – the second night of the season – I decided to pull out something that I’ve been keeping in the closet for over ten years. It was my dad’s bowling ball. I actually gave it to him when I was a teenager back in the seventies. (And, the truth is, I believe I “gave” it to him for Christmas while Dad footed the bill!)

Anyway, when my dad died over ten years ago, my awesome step-mother told me and all my brothers to take anything we wanted to remember Dad.

I wanted his bowling ball. Dad loved bowling and was on a weekly league for as long as I can remember.

So, last night, I carefully took the snazzy, silver ball out of its very old, leather bag. The zipper hadn’t been unzipped in a long, long time. I felt like I was exposing a tomb.

When I stood at the head of the long lane, holding Dad’s ball, one thought raced through my head.

“Dad had a smaller thumb than me,” I said to myself as I realized that my right thumb was a little snug in its hole. I hadn’t considered that potential problem. Perhaps I was a little caught up in the sentimental emotion.

But I let it roll.

And knocked seven pins down with ball one.

When Dad’s silver ball popped back up on the conveyor belt, I grabbed it and started back for roll number two. As I placed my three fingers in their holes, I noticed something funny in the thumb hole. It felt rough.

So I examined it. And couldn’t believe my eyes.

A small fragment of the ball- on the inside of the thumb hole – broke off. Just like it had been magically chiseled away.

And my thumb suddenly fit. Perfectly.

Now if I can just get my bowling angel to help me with my game.