I am not a huge fan of bowling at the best of times and find it the most utterly frustrating (and ridiculously expensive) way to pass the time when I’m in a bad mood. Enter cranky moi from left of stage. But a promise is a promise so off we went to bowling this afternoon, Dylan and I.
At the beginning of the second game Dylan came up to me and said “Don’t get frustrated Mum” after I had just about thrown the ramp at the dude behind the counter after ball after ball missed the mark for Dylan. He’s normally spot on when we play in Brisbane and I was getting upset for him.
When he said “Don’t get frustrated Mum” and smiled at me, I got it! “You’re having fun anyway?” I asked. “I love bowling and it doesn’t matter if I don’t hit anything.” My frustration and my misguided perception was actually spoiling it for him – who was just there to hurl a ball down a ramp and wait to see what happened. What was important for him, which we constantly pummel into our kids, it the fun of playing the game, not winning.
Yet again, I become my five year old son’s pupil as he donned the robes of the wise one.