When Three-Year Olds Bowl

It doesn't take long to get me laughing when three-year-olds are involved in anything. I find them to be highly dramatic, with mood changes every three or four minutes, and full of an unadulterated belief that they can do and be anything they please.

Maybe we should be more like three-year-olds. In throwing caution to the wind, that is. You know, not having to be perfect to try something--anything. (No, I'm not saying we should revert to whining until we get chocolate milk in our favorite sippie cup. Though it might be fun just once...)

I found out this week, firsthand, that it can be a very humorous and enjoyable experience watching a three-year-old bowl. It happened purely by accident as David and I babysat my sister's kids on Wednesday. And my three-year-old niece prepared for her bowling experience.

There was, first of all, the matter of ball selection. On the way to the bowling alley she insisted that only pink or purple balls would do. Until she got into her little red/blue/yellow velcro bowling shoes and ambled up to the ball racks. The little thing couldn't pick up anything more than an ugly orange lightweight. We were happy to see her optimism about the game of bowling was not deterred by this turn of events.

But the best part of this whole little outing was the squat.

When it was her turn, she proudly ran up to the ball holder, grabbed the orange one, and ran up to the front of the lane. Those cute little "bumpers" automatically popped up, insuring the improbability her ball would end up in the gutter.

She squatted down intently, granny-style, looking dapper in her cute plaid shorts, and we told her to push. See her hands planted on that ball? As we yelled "push hard!" she intently pushed that ugly orange thing forward with very little force, and I began to wonder whether she or the ball would be heading down the lane.

But she kept her footing and with a very eager look watched the ball's painfully slow journey down the lane. We began to pray it would reach the pins without stalling.

Apparently it did:

And oh the delight when it even, almost by accident, knocked down a few pins. She was every inch a bowler extraordinaire and her face showed it.

I kept laughing every time her turn would come up, because each throw was an event in itself. She ran up to the lane, did the infamous squat and truly believed her "pushes" were amazing. 

As soon as the ball started the slow roll, she'd run back to the seats, watching in anticipation for the "knock-down." She had her own little routine and no one could tell her it might be done differently someday.

Three year olds don't need to know these things. They are usually permitted to exercise their own way of doing things. No matter how inefficient. And it ends up being delightful.

So I started thinking, what if bowling alleys started forming bowling leagues strictly for three-year-olds? Could you stand it? Not even dance recitals could be this cute. Aunts, uncles, and even distant relatives could attend, and receive free comic relief in the form of their little cherubs battling it out lane-by-lane, shove by shove. There would be no rules except common courtesy. You could turn your rear to the lane and push backward through your legs if you felt like it. The crazier the better.

You could even give an award or something for the best squat. 

And oh, the photo opps...

Admit it, friends. You'd show up, at least once.

The next best thing. Go bowling with a crazy friend and bowl like a three-year-old yourself. I triple-dog-dare ya. And don't forget to send me a pic.

Cheers!