April 2017 -
29
How Not To Teach Your Daughter to Love Bowling
By Rod O’Connor
Maybe it‘s the weeks-long buildup of our family outing, or the general chaos of the
crowded bowling alley. Whatever the reason, a look of terror overtakes my 8-year-
old daughter, Josephine, the second we enter Diversey River Bowl. ―I‘m not bowl-
ing,‖ she declares. ―I just don‘t feel like it right now.‖
As we trot toward the front desk, I see her senses hijacked by the neon lights and
thunderous sounds of balls crashing into helpless pins. She‘s just a little nervous, I
tell myself. So I play the chill dad:
Sure, honey. Whatever you want. Just sit there
with your lemonade and watch me bowl.
In parenting books, they call that reverse
psychology. In my world, it‘s called ineffective. Josephine digs in with her own brand
of stubborn, too old for tantrums and not yet graduated to preteen sass.
How can she not want to bowl? I thought I‘d nailed this one: On a sunless Sunday
afternoon, take the family bowling in an attempt to encourage Josephine to love the
one sport I‘ve pursued my entire life. The last time she stepped foot in this alley,
probably three years ago, she was practically a baby. Now, if my math serves, she‘s
closer to a teenager (gulp). The time feels right to plant the seed. I can picture my-
self as a still-spry 80-year-old, high-fiving a grown-up Josephine after I pick up a
particularly difficult spare. ―You‘ve still got it, Dad,‖ she‘ll tell me.
Except my future fantasy is already flying off the rails. After 20 minutes of cajoling
and having to start a game without her, I persuade her to put on her rental shoes. I
walk her to the ball rack and suggest she fit her fingers in the holes of the ball, in-
stead of rolling it under her legs, picking up the eight-pound pink house ball to dem-
onstrate. I look down. Oh shit. She‘s crying. My wife, Jen, who‘s been hanging back
with 4-year-old Gemma, swoops in.
―Don‘t listen to him—I‘ll show you,‖ Jen says, gently pushing me aside. She tells
Josephine she can throw any way she darn well pleases, then points to the screen,
which shows Jen with a lucky strike and a spare over three frames, dwarfing my
cumulative score of 21. (Note: I had no time for warm-ups.) ―Who‘s winning, huh?‖
Jen asks pointedly. ―Me. Let‘s do this.‖
Josephine chucks the ball like a shot-putter, and it goes straight into the gutter. But
she‘s
smiling
. She steps up for her second toss. This time, she slips her fingers into
the holes. (Ohhh, I get it. She wants to do it herself. Duh.) She walks to the line and
swings her arm back, and the slow roller eventually drops two corner pins. She‘s
ecstatic. Me? I‘m bummed that my student-teacher moment got trumped. Maybe it‘s
time for me to go grab us some nachos.
I tried lots of sports as a kid: basketball and football, wrestling and soccer, a little
golf and tennis. But bowling was the only one that stuck. My love affair with the
lanes began when I was about Jo‘s age, in fourth grade. My parents signed me up
for the junior league at Fox Bowl in Wheaton. To this day, the only sports trophy I‘ve
ever earned is for a third-place finish in that league in 1982. And I‘m OK with that. I
bowled every Saturday with my very own shoes and a ball engraved with ―Roddy.‖
Despite my unorthodox throwing style—a herky-jerky heave without even a hint of
the hook all decent players have—I‘ve always been confident at the bowling alley.
While I‘m not great by any means, I can safely say I‘m above average. Maybe that‘s
why I kept with it into adulthood. Until the responsibilities of two kids finally won out,
I‘d almost always been in a league. (My career highlight came roughly 15 years ago,
when my team, Hurricane Ditka, took the championship by crushing a group of in-
sane guys who wore
lucha libre
wrestling masks and called themselves Los Diablos
Guapos—―The Handsome Devils.‖) I‘m not an overly competitive person, but at the
lanes, whether my opponent is a longtime league rival or my mother-in-law, I always
want to win.
So far, Josephine hasn‘t shown much interest in sports, which is fine. But this is
about more than being a daddy-daughter duo. I don‘t want Josephine to be a wall-
flower. I‘d like her to be comfortable with the adrenaline rush of competition. She
should understand that in bowling, as in life, there are winners and losers. (And win-
ners know how to do the turkey dance when they toss three strikes in a row.) Most
of all, I want her to grow into a confident woman, ready to knock down whatever
adversity comes her way. Problem is, she‘s not knocking down much of anything at
the moment. I could be nurturing and let her learn at her own pace … or I could
bring in a ringer.
A few weeks later, Jo and I return to River Bowl for a private lesson with
Diandra
Asbaty,
a decorated world-champion bowler who lives in the South Loop. The 36-
year-old has her young kids along and lets them bowl with a sitter. It doesn‘t take
long to see that Asbaty can coach Josephine in more than just proper form. The
public speaker and self-proclaimed ―mompreneur‖ started her own line of women‘s
bowling attire and the nonprofit Elite Youth Tour—and she still kills it in pro tourna-
ments when she can find the time. Bowling role model? Check.
―Everything I‘ve ever learned about life, I learned from bowling,‖ she tells Jo.
―Remember,
you
get to decide how good you want to be at something. I decided I
wanted to be the best bowler in the world.‖ Solid advice.
Asbaty shows her how to do a four-step approach and preaches the importance of
swinging her arm like a pendulum. Josephine listens intently, but she‘s still tossing
goose eggs. Meanwhile, Asbaty‘s 6-year-old is dropping strikes without really trying,
and Robert Morris University‘s bowling team is on fire in the next lane over. I start to
worry this was a terrible idea.
Half an hour later, it comes together. A dancer since she was 3, Jo‘s got some
footwork that translates: She lets one fly, doing that cool back-leg-kick thing, and
narrowly misses the strike. We‘ll both gladly take the 7—and the boost it gives her.
After the lesson, she leads me by the arm to the pro shop. ―Daddy,‖ she says, ―I
think I need my own ball.‖
There‘s the spark I‘ve been hoping for. In a few years, I‘ll get Gemma out here, too.
We‘ll be like the Partridge Family of bowling. And we will be unstoppable.
This article appears in the
issue of
Chicago
magazine.
May 3, 2017
32 Local Junior Bowlers + 8 PWBA Bowlers
(Teams = 4 Juniors + 1 PWBA) Bowl 8 Baker Games At
Steve Cook‘s Fireside Lanes
7901 Auburn Blvd., Citrus Heights, CA
Asbaty is on the roster for: Qubica AMF PWBA Sonoma County Open at
Double Decker Lanes see ad page 18
