My Life As A Hobby

It began innocently enough. Most bad things do. Nobody ever says, “Hey, I’m let’s go to the bowling alley and see if you can suffer an injury in front of your grandchildren.” But there I was, standing under the glow of fluorescent lights and the smell of rented shoes, about to learn yet another important lesson about aging. It wasn’t my intent. I had just stopped by because I knew my son was at the bowling alley with three of my granddaughters. I decided to make a surprise guest appearance and watch them bowl. And that’s when it happened. One of them asked me to bowl a frame. One frame. That’s two rolls of a bowling ball. Two. Not climbing Mount Everest. Not competing in the decathlon. Not wrestling an alligator. It’s bowling - the . sport most commonly associated with pitchers of beer, chili-cheese fries, and men named Earl. In fairness, I used to be a decent bowler back in the day. I even bowled in a league when I was a kid. I owned my own bowling ball at one point in life, which...

  There are moments in life when the distance between an ordinary day and tragedy is measured in inches. I’ve thought about that a lot today - with good reason.  Yesterday started out as a good day, even though it centered around a funeral home. My wife Carol, my oldest son Matt, and I had gone to pay our respects to the family of lifelong friends. As strange as it sounds, it turned into one of those bittersweet gatherings that reminds you how deeply connected your life is to other people. We saw old friends we hadn’t laid eyes on in decades. There were hugs, old stories, laughter, and the kind of catching up that somehow picks right back up where it left off. A wonderful event, though it was obviously wrapped in sadness. Afterward, the three of us went to eat. Nothing fancy. Just a pleasant meal and good conversation before heading home. It felt like a completely normal evening. Ordinary in every way. And then, within a matter of seconds, it almost wasn’t. We pulled up...