Oh Boy, Oh Boy, Oh Boy!

I never was much of a bowler. Our family did not do it much but I enjoyed it. I had a very interesting style.

My style was based on the fact that I was too weak to hold the bowling ball with one arm. I would stand with my toes facing the pins spread wider than my shoulders. I would then squat and hunch over with the ball cradled in my hands. I would then swing the ball back and forth until I could almost hear Obi-Wan Kenobi say "Use the Force, Luke." and release.

What usually happened was the ball would trickle down the center of the lane. Do to the lack of speed, the ball would veer off at the last second knocking over between 1 - 8 pins. It was fun, predictable, and consistent.

I perfected this style to the average of about 65. I was content.

I do not know why, lately, I have been reminiscing about the past. Why I find things in the present relating to memories in my past. It could be I am getting older and the past is taking up a larger percentage of my brain, or perhaps it is because I have been reading other peoples blogs, like Primate Brow Flash, and I am beginning to reflect those thoughts on my own life, but I think it is because of my children. The only reference I have to parenting are my parents and decisions I make are based on decisions they made years ago. This has me doing a lot of musing.

Anyway, back to bowling. I remember the game I changed my style and why. I could have keep bowling the way I had forever but my dad said that day it was time for me to start bowling like a big boy. I was terrible. Every other ball was in the gutter. My arm ached. I think I scored about 23 points.

The whole game I complained to my dad, siteing gutter ball after gutter ball as poof to his poor advice.

My scores sucked for a long time after that but eventually my average got back to about 65 and then one day my average rose above 100. It was then I knew why I needed to change. I was never going to improve. It took stepping back to eventually step forward. I know my children will learn that change, even when it makes thing harder, can make life better.

I think I need to take my family bowling!

A nice way to refer to my children is energetic. More accurately would be wild men.

Anytime we are in public and they do not break something, I am amazed. Sometimes though, as if to keep Sarah and me hoping, they behave. A few weeks ago, Sarah took Nathaniel and Michael to the doctor’s office for their 5 and 3 year old check up. Both boys were as cute as could be. They had impressed the doctor, charmed the nurses and left their mother speechless. Sarah related one conversation to me that Nate had with the doctor.

Doctor: "So Nate, do you eat a lot of good food?"

Nate: an enthusiastic, "Oh yes, lots!"

Doctor: "What kid of good foods do you eat?"

Nate: without pause, "Grilled cheese sandwiches."

Doctor: "That's great, how about vegetables? Do you like vegetables?"

Nate: confidently, "Absolutely!!"

Doctor: "What kid of vegetables do you like?"

Nate: turning to Sarah in a horse whisper, "What's a vegetable?"

Sarah: red faced, "Carrots, broccoli, tomatoes"

Nate: turning back to the doctor, "I'll pick carrots."

That's my boy!!!

Growing up, our family went to church every Sunday. I mean every Sunday. The ritual unfolded as expected; Dad woke us up at some un-godly hour, my brother and I, using every method we could get into our tired brains to get out of having to go and after 15 minutes of encouragement (screaming) from my parents, packed us into the station wagon and headed to church. We did this every Sunday.

My dad drove; the sons complained; mom filed her nails.

This all changed one Sunday soon after my 16th birthday. I had just earned my driving permit when dad said that I was going to drive the family to church. I was excited about this challenge. I got up early, helped yell at my brother to get ready and flew out to the car to drive to church.

Once we were all packed in, I carefully backed out the station wagon and stopped at the end of the driveway. I didn't know which way to go. I had be a passenger in a car going to the same church for 16 years and did not have a clue what to do next. Turn right or left?

Dad?

I will always remember what he told me that day. Very matter-a-factly he said, "You are driving." It was a simple sentence said with the understanding of a parent, and it scared me. I was going to have to get the family to church on my own.

We were late. I made lots of mistakes but we got there. My dad gave me no directions, never hinted which way to go or got impatient.

He let me find my own way.

I use this story often in my teaching and coaching. When I have spent time explaining concepts or methods and it is time for a student or a swimmer to take that scary leap into the unfamiliar. I tell them this story so they know I have not abandon them, but I am just watching them find their own way.