Spare me

I'm avoiding work like the plague this morning, so I thought I'd write about being the bowling blacksheep of the family. I don't know why bowling is on my mind, but it is. Maybe my family is sending me bowling vibes. Maybe someone in the family bowled a 300 yesterday and I'm picking up on it telepathically. Whatever. Bowling it is. This blog will be for my bowling family.  

(If you are not a bowler, welcome to my world. Just go with my whining and feel my pain. If you are not a bowler, you won't understand the bowling jargon but you will worry for me.)

It's embarrassing. If I didn't look so much like my mother, I would think I didn't come out of her womb. 

I come a family of bowlers. Good bowlers. Great bowlers. My grandfather was a bowler. My mother and father have been bowling as long as I can remember. My sister chose her college based on the bowling team. Heck, my sister is one the Wall of Fame at our High School for her bowling prowess. She's worn a bowling skirt. A bowling skirt, for god's sake! She's been on the cover of the local paper for her bowling ability. My mother and sister WORK in a bowling alley! Now, that is a lot of SERIOUS bowling. My twelve year old niece just bowled a 191 and my younger nieces can spank me in bowling. My cousin has bowled a 300. My brother-in-law has like fifty seven different bowling balls, all to conquer the various lane conditions. My family wins trophy after trophy after trophy...

I am the meaning--THE ESSENCE--of a bowling blacksheep. 

How did this happen? Where did I go wrong? Lane conditions? Who thinks about lane conditions? Who knew there were different lane conditions? I'm just happy I don't have to rent those crusty bowling shoes anymore--bought my own pair of shoes one day on a lark--like I need bowling shoes for the one time a year that I manage to bowl--er, attempt to bowl. 

I like bowling well enough--I don't like the smoky alleys but that doesn't affect my lack of bowling ability--I'm just not good at it. I was on a league about ten years ago and couldn't muster an average above 124. Maybe it was the smoke-filled alley. I couldn't see the pins. There is a LOT of smoking and drinking going on in bowling.

No matter the cause, I remain a disgrace to my family.

Part of my problem is that I drop the ball upon the end of my approach. It's loud and obnoxious and just how it is. I've dropped that stupid ball my entire life. I know not to drop the ball, I know that I'm supposed to throw the ball out there toward that damned second arrow, I am aware that I drop the ball....and, I STILL drop the ball.....

BAM!!!! It smacks that lane like a boulder dropping from the Sears Tower.  

I'm not sure what that's all about. Perhaps I am just that wimpy. Perhaps I am a rebel who refuses to bowl like the others. Perhaps I just don't care. 

Speaking of that second arrow so nicely painted on the lane, I don't hit it. (Non-bowlers, take note--there are arrows painted on the lanes. It's supposed to help you bowl better. No need to look at the pins when you can look at arrows instead.) It doesn't matter how hard I concentrate. Me and my bowling arm are not one. 

I look at the arrow.

I am one with the arrow.

I see the arrow. 

I aim at the arrow.

I miss the arrow.

It seems my bolwing arm and my bowling eyes do not match. The ball drops and spins off to some other place other than the arrow. 

I don't need lane conditions or a bowling skirt--I need to hit that second arrow and I need help hitting the second arrow and I HATE that arrow and I HATE bowling and I.....

.....it's tough being the bowling blacksheep. I am filled with emotion and shame. 

I do own my own bowling ball, so that's gotta count for something. It's purple. I don't know what kind it is but I know that it's purple and weighs somewhere between 13 and 14 pounds and that some guy at the local pro shop drilled the holes in it and I don't think he did it right but what do I know? I have a purple bowling ball bag, too. Got it at K-Mart. All this crap sits in the closet, unused. The wife is not entertained that I spent money on this stuff I only use once a year, but she doesn't understand what it means to come from a bowling family. 

Hey, at least I know how to keep score...I come from the "pre-computerized" time in bowling. it's a lost art. Youngsters today don't learn how to keep score. I can keep it with the best of bowlers. Strike-strike-nine...twenty nine. Yes, I'm queen of keeping score.

That's got to be worth something....

Perhaps I can keep score for my family when they bowl.  Maybe that will distract all of us from that second arrow.....

....maybe that will distract them enough that they don't notice I'm not bowling. 

Not that I'm bowling when I'm bowling. 

Baaaaaaaa, baaaaaa, bowling black sheep. Cue Mary had a Little Lamb....

"...Addi was a little (black sheep) lamb

Her lane shoes were white as snow.

And every where that Addi went, 

her bowling ball was sure to go."

Spare me, bowling family. Spare me. I know not what I'm doing.