Tagging along with Dad: Bowling

Wayyyyyy back, when my sister and I were too young to be just left at home, parents had to make arrangements for ensuring we were cared for, amidst anything else they were doing.

Both worked, and we were old enough for school, so that covered a large part of the day. But Mom worked some evenings at the library, and…Dad was in a bowling league.

So while I do not recall the specific logistics of it, I do recall plenty of evenings at the bowling alley. Plenty of folks I didn’t know, and off the top of my head as I write this, I don’t even remember names for any of the other adults that were there; in this case, they’re maybe not the important part, though if any of you who would have been there happen to read this, please feel free to let me know…I’d love any memories to build onto these old ones I’ve carried!

I remember Dad would give us a couple/few dollars each, to play the various arcade games. I vaguely recall that I often blew through my coins pretty darned quick, and then would wander around and watch the demo screens and such. Looking back on that, maybe it sounds “sad” or something, but I remember genuinely enjoying that. (and I’ve “always” enjoyed WATCHING certain video games more than actively playing).

I especially remember frequently watching the cycle of demo screens for Street Fighter. I think I would look at it like a mini tv show or some such; with the repetetive intro and then different characters fighting each other. I’m pretty sure it was Street Fighter and NOT Street Fighter II.

I also remember Ms. Pac-Man. I feel like I recall both the “standard” arcade cabinet, but also the “lounge table” version, whatever those are called (“shame” on me for blanking, but stream of conscious writing here, you get what you get). I was never all that good at the game, as I recall…but it was fun. And I ALSO remember Dad enjoying it; whether I’m recalling that from the bowling alley or other arcade experiences.

(I’d even been planning to try to get him one of those Arcade 1 Up 3/4-scale cabinets of Ms. Pac-Man…but the HUGE increase in price since the MK one I got in 2019 put it off, as I knew he’d have been HORRIFIED at me spending that kinda money on him; as well as me understanding that while he’d CERTAINLY have gotten a kick out of it, it wasn’t something he’d actually USE all that much. Let alone even with the A1U riser, the scale might’ve been a bit of a problem for him)

There was also one of those “claw machines” with all the plushies and such. I always loved those; still do in a way; but probably goes back to that one at the bowling alley. I’d often manage to get SOMEthing if I devoted that night’s “entertainment allowance” to the thing. I vaguely remember this one man–I remember him as “old,” like “Grandpa-old,” and do not recall if he was in the league, or another one; or an employee, or what. I DO recall that Dad at least recognized him/knew of him (Dad let us have “the run” of much of the area, but as much freedom as I felt, I strongly suspect he had a far better eye on us than I was consciously aware of at the time).

And I remember one time watching this man put a single coin into the claw machine (oh, and this was back when you could play ’em for a single coin, none of this two-quarters or $1 or more crap!) and the claw dropped down, closed on something, then rose back up without whatever plush that was…and yet A LOT OF STUFF WAS MOVING. The claw mechanism had managed to close just right on some ribbon on a buried plush, so it hauled this plush rabbit or whatever up out from beneath all the other plushes that were visible–changing the dynamic of the layout–and dropped the thing out for him. I think he gave it to my sister, who I recall being right there watching as well.

And side-memory on the claw machine(s): I don’t recall where Dad had been–bowling alley, golf clubhouse, whatever; but I do remember one time he came home with a huge bundle of these plush puppies. I can’t QUITE visualize them specifically at the moment…I think I’m visualizing “Pound Puppies” toys. But they were all different colors, though the same “style”; especially in retrospect I know darned well they were obviously mass-produced. But he brought a bunch of these in; and it later turned out there were more out in the car in a plastic shopping bag. And I think I managed to get a couple more myself as they showed up in several claw machines or some such. Can’t recall what ever became of all of them, but obviously the memory is still there.

Another specific memory I have from that bowling alley is some little store or such that they had. I don’t so much remember the store itself as I remember there BEING one; because I remember one of the times getting a pack of Ninja Turtles trading cards! Who knows what my recollection has mixed up, but I think it was probably that first set, that came with the stick of bubble gum and had images from the original/first season of the cartoon. I do not recall if I would have spent my “arcade money” on that, or if I maybe begged Dad for extra; but I just have this random memory of carrying 1 pack of the cards in that bowling alley.


I do not recall if it was the same bowling alley or not, but I also remember being in a father/son bowling league for a single “season,” with Dad. I don’t really have any singular/specific memories of any particular moment of him “helping” me, but I’m sure he did; he was my start WITH bowling at all, ever. And whatever MY scores were, his were at least enough that, if I recall correctly, he and I won some first-place trophy from that. I’m not sure if I still HAVE that trophy (it may have been lost with stuff purged in the move from the old house a few years ago), but I had that thing for years, and have always at least “remembered” our sharing that time bowling and such and winning ANY trophy at all.

And while typing the above, I found ANOTHER memory of bowling and Dad: some sorta cub scout thing, most likely. I remember it being him, me, and a number of other boys. And Dad “challenged” us to “beat” him. And to be “sporting,” he stood back by the ball-receiver, adding the space from there to the lane itself to his bowling. Can’t remember if anyone DID beat him; I know I did not; but (if only deja vu of sorts now) I feel like I’ve always remembered that since, any time I’ve BEEN bowling…like just kinda looking at stuff and contemplating rolling the ball from back there without even stepping up to the actual lane.


As a final thought and because I don’t have enough memory of it to be its own post, might as well put it here: I was in a softball league one season as a kid. And I remember disliking it pretty quick…just wasn’t for me. BUT I do remember Dad making me stick with it for the season; combination of I think I was the one who asked to BE in the thing…and teaching some responsibility about finishing what one starts and seeing stuff through.

Deep breath and wistful sigh here, and feeling a hint of a smile and some sorta…satisfaction? Gratefulness? SOMEthing…even as I’m NOW tearing up a bit, but realizing that while many of these memories have been so long internalized and far from surface, conscious thoughts…Dad was always there for me. Always a part of stuff. Even when I was a little kid, he was THERE and present and participated IN my life…

Dad bringing Kayla into my life

Dad was in the US Navy for 21 years. A little over 10 of those were in MY lifetime.

I was born on Guam; I have a couple fragmentary, isolated “memories” of our stopping off in Hawaii on the way into the mainland–of Dad holding my hands (I would’ve been 3 or 4, maybe?) and “walking” me into the ocean a bit (like that edge of the beach where the sand is soaked but you’re only really getting a couple inches of water).

(And another isolated fragment of memory is Mom dumping my bucket of shells, which makes total sense to me as an adult but as a wee lad disappointed me such that I later collected a small bag of shells from a beach with Katie and Emily when we shared a spring break trip in 2002).

Yet another isolated memory of being taken to a pool with cousins when we stopped off visiting family in Texas at the time, I think.

ANYway…born on Guam. Moved to Michigan in…must’ve been 1984. When Dad was sent to “the Detroit area” at least. We lived in military housing “on base” or something, in a complex that was originally Kaypart Quarters or something and later Sebille Manor; like a gated community, but for military; same place but it changed names partway into our time there. I’ll expand on those some other time, most likely (and don’t cite MY spellings right now; probably “off,” and that physical community no longer exists; I’d looked it up years ago when Google Earth was “new” and all that)

Sometime in 1988 Dad came down to the Cleveland area; he lived in some apartment for at least a few months with a roommate–we visited him a time or two while he was there–but he was here for work AND house-hunting. That, I guess, will ALSO be something for another time.

Point being: Guam, Michigan, Ohio…moving all the time. And with various travel things for animals, we never had a pet to that point.

But Dad retired from the Navy in 1991, and the subject of a pet came up more; and by late 1991 it’d been decided that we WOULD get a cat.

I remember having ZERO “expectations” except I wanted a KITTEN. I’d had very limited “experience” with actual kittens (or cats, even) but wanted a kitten.

But Dad had wound up fascinated with the “Himalayan” breed (I think they’re officially “Pointed Persians” now). Long hair, main body one color, ears/face/tail/feet another. And in with the classifieds (I don’t think we were as aware as we should have been of shelters) he found a listing for a Himalayan and ended up taking us to at least “check out” this cat.

I have vague memories PROBABLY across two visits to that house; between an initial visit to “meet” the cat and then actually going to pick her up and take her home with us, as we’d decided to take her in. Of that cat curled up on a wooden chair tucked in under a table. A story from the owner of their other cat–a male–having gotten out once and making a racket to get back in, etc.

I suddenly think as I’m typing here that it must have been a Thursday night; Mom was working, whatever night it was. But having picked up the cat, Dad handling whatever official stuff, I remember getting to be the one to HOLD this cat in the car for the drive back to the house. And the cat was not happy. (Who WOULD be, suddenly leaving the home you’ve known for all 15 months of your life and going away with strangers?!?)

I’m sure Dad came around to the passenger side and would have carried the cat inside; my sister and I hot on his heels, eager to be inside with this new cat.

And this entire post to this point to get to this “memory”: the cat disappeared under the couch immediately. And I remember watching dad get down on the floor (!!!) and managing to “sweep” this cat out/pull her out. (We probably should have allowed her more time, but this isn’t about judging or what we “should have” done, etc).

And I’m pretty sure I was the one holding the cat when Mom got home from work and also got to meet the cat.

The cat “came with ‘Papers'”…she was a “purebred” Sealpoint Himalayan female.

“Miss Kayla Krystal” was the official name…but other than the “fact of it” and remembering to this day….geez, we’re days shy of THIRTY YEARS since that night she came into our lives…she was always “just” KAYLA to us. The formal name was just that–some formal name. But she was Kayla.

Kayla-kitty; Night Kitten; Kayla; Poof(er)…sooo many nicknames. And so many other memories of HER over the years; from those earliest days to the end; Kayla was with us for just over EIGHTEEN YEARS; from January 1992, until May 2010.

Dad brought her into my life; was why we wound up with that particular cat; he was there with me and my sister when we MET the cat and brought her home and all that.

And he made the difficult phone call, and he drove, and HE handled the paperwork and all that and he was in that room with me that awful May morning in 2010 when we had to help her cross the Rainbow Bridge.

I remember the tone/generality of some of his words, about what a special relationship I’d had with Kayla; never once did he make it about HIM or HIS with her; and as I’m typing this I’m realizing it was yet another selfless part of him, so much greater than me/mine, in that. I was living an hour away in Cuyahoga Falls at the time and only “visiting” on weekends. Dad and Mom were with Kayla every. single. day. Day in and day out. And after we lost Christy, it was “just” Kayla and all that.

I was the one holding Kayla when we brought her home; and I was the one holding her at the end. Dad was there both times; and he was so supportive and just…there.

And when we lost Christy; when we lost Kayla; when we lost Ziggy…I still always had HIM.

To do my duty, to God and my country…

I was reminded this morning by an old friend of something I hadn’t even really thought about/remembered the last few days: Cub Scouts.

Back in the day, Dad was a “den leader,” and I believe I remember for a time he was even a “pack leader,” or at LEAST had helped out whoever WAS quite a bit. (EDIT: Mom has confirmed my memory that yes, he was pack leader for a time.)

He saw me in Cub Scouts–from Bobcat, Wolf, Bear, Webelos, to Arrow of Light. He encouraged me along into Boy Scouts, through all those years up to being THE needed push through to making Eagle Scout.

Whether it was still Cub Scouts preparing us for moving along into Boy Scouts, or early as a Boy Scout…I remember him walking some of us through the “Scout Law.”

A Scout is: Trustworthy, Loyal, Helpful, Friendly, Courteous, Kind, Obedient, Cheerful, THrifty, Brave, Clean, and Reverent.

As a kid, remembering such a list was a sort of challenge.

But whether it was THAT particular experience, or any of the random experiences…

I guess I’d “forgotten” what a leader he was even to ME, and MY friends. And to plenty of boys my own age, whatever directions we’ve gone.

It wasn’t JUST fellow veterans or men his own age. It wasn’t just ME.

He was a leader, and he touched so many lives, and this reminds me yet again that he touched so many lives that I don’t even know.

I feel like I should try to type up a lot more specific memories from Cub Scouts and/or Boy Scouts…but as I’m typing this, I’m so emotionally drained from typing at friends and other mental processing; the open rawness I’m sharing lately that’s NOT gonna be in this blog.

But I guess this means I DO have a post to share today, where part of me feared it would be a struggle.

And I decided that post title before I started typing, so let me elaborate on another thought here I didn’t get to:

Dad was in the US Navy for 21 years. He was military, and HIS Dad (my Grandpa) was ALSO in the Navy. I never was (and have been grateful that Dad not only didn’t PUSH me in to the military but rightfully saw that the military was not for me and so shielded me) but have always held all the more respect for those who HAVE served this country as a result…because he, and they, did what I did NOT.

But I realized that while it’s NOT the military…Cub Scouts and Boy Scouts gave me that “organization,” that brotherhood and experience with structure and ranks; to grow and learn. And that it was some of Dad’s getting to really model to me what it was to be a man, and to LEAD, and so on.

And it was also another thing where he was very actively INVOLVED in MY life, with me, with something that was a part of my life and shaped me…and shaping me himself, and solidifying/encouraging friendships that I have to this day.

So it was that even in this, HE did his best, to do his duty, to God and his country…

Get some good rest. Get some good sleep.

“Get some good rest…get some good sleep… love you.”

Or maybe get some good sleep/get some good rest. I think the phrasing was often slightly variable. And it’s also killing and stirring up so much guilt that I cannot right now–absolutely–REMEMBER.

Because for ages, that was part of our nights.

I would take him a glass of iced coffee. He would grab his pills container. He’d take his meds for the night. He’d hand me the now-empty container and I’d put it back in its slot in the main organizer, and I’d pull out the next day’s one. Hand it to him, where he’d tuck it off to the side, ready for the morning.

Far too often there weren’t really many words. His hearing was so bad that I frequently lamented that I had to SHOUT. Practically SCREAM. Sometimes. For him to hear and “get” my words. (Not always. And he was pretty good about reading one’s lips…though I was more difficult for him with this beard and all).

But he’d get this look on his face–maybe a slight smile, maybe amusement, maybe…I don’t know.

And then those words.

Sometimes he’d pause differently. His inflection might vary. Sometimes he’d kinda look at me, hinting for ME to finish it…like he was ensuring that I knew them; that I got them; that I was participating.

That he was sharing and it wasn’t just some one-way thing.

And sometimes it was “I love you,” all three words. And sometimes it was the shortened “Love you.”

I feel like it was only “recently,” though. I said above that it was part of stuff for “ages,” but “ages” COULD just be a year? Two? Definitely within the last 4.

The exceptions were nights that he wasn’t feeling well. Or when I went to bed early. Then Mom would take him the iced coffee.

Mixed in there was often Mom taking Daisey out for her last potty of the day. Often simultaneous–she’d get up to go get Daisey, and I’d grab a glass and the coffee. That always varied.

But I also often got to see and hear Dad and Mom’s exchange to each other.

And I’d be a bit embarrassed; like I was intrusive on what should have been a private moment. But they never seemed embarrassed at my presence.

Right now I can’t pinpoint our last “proper” instance of this routine. I can barely piece together that as I sit here typing this it’s been roughly 56 hours since…since that hospital room.

It’s been–give or take a half-hour or so, maybe less–four days since Mom and I helped him transfer from the power chair back to the lift chair.

It was either then, or when we had helped him first from the lift chair to the power chair, that he had commented on my “grip.” I think his words were “You have a good grip.”

But he did say–if not word-for-word, then close enough–“I couldn’t have done this without you.”

After making sure he wasn’t going to slide out of the chair, and worrying about him NOT adjusting to a “better” position in the chair, made sure Mom was “ok” and came back out to this part of the house.

But before I left I said something–now that I’m typing and trying to remember, my memory is failing me–I probably had “I’ll be ‘around'” and part of me is thinking I included “I love you.” I can’t be sure now–memory fails–if he said it back to me even if I did. I know there was at least once, weakly, between Monday evening and when he was whisked out of this house to be taken to the hospital.

POINT BEING…we never used to be big on saying the words. And whenever this particular nightly routine started, I do remember feeling sorta weird or off or something…because it was never a “regular” or “routine” thing to be said out loud. It was always there; we always knew it; but I guess maybe we both realized that it was good–for both of us–to SAY it. To vocalize it.

Hm. And as my mind has cast back, I think we may have shared the words a fair bit at the nursing homes, too; but it was a different setting and context; albeit the same heart and meaning.

I mentioned “4” years above. Because April 2017 changed our lives forever. Because that was when so many medical things came together in what apparently was a “perfect storm” of things and Dad was first hospitalized and then transferred through three nursing homes from April to December. And he finally was able to come back home, he’d been changed physically. He had the power chair and a wheelchair. He had a walker. Mom and I had become caregivers.

But we had HIM. He was home, he was with us, we were in this house that he so adored, despite the relatively short time we’d been here at that point; the still-relatively-short-time even four years later.

And words now fail me AGAIN; where I sat down thinking to start “a post” I can’t “stick the ending.” Thoughts trail off and scatter. And in the coming days and weeks and months, I suppose I’ll have so much more to share. Look at the expanse of these words began by his goodnight phrasing being in my head this morning.

I had just over 41 years with him…if I could remember everything, if I could convey everything, if it could be singular and comprehensive, that alone would fill volumes. And that’s just ME and MY experiences and memories.

Can’t begin to “do justice” and all that.

But it’s a start. I’ve typed this without breaking down. Tears have leaked, but I’ve gotten these words typed.

And it’s a start.

ONLY a start.