Stahlke Adoption

My Father's Hands, Part 1

Plain M&Ms. Without peanuts. They tumble out of the candy dispenser after that cranking sound of the coin lever turning. Because my father inserted the coins, my own hands are free to catch every single piece of candy. It would be a shame if any of them fell wasted on the dark purple carpet.

In the background, I hear the crash of bowling balls hitting pins. It's Monday night, and Dad just finished playing several games with the bowling league from his workplace. He has bagged his bowling ball in the cream-colored bag that matches the special shoes, also cream-colored, that he wears to bowl. My brother, sister, and I follow him to the candy machine before leaving the building for home. The late hour doesn't matter, since we're still too young for school.

I like to watch Dad bowl. Concentration. Graceful moves without a wasted motion. When his right hand releases the ball, it glides down the lane, spinning backwards as it drives toward the pins. Crash! Most of the pins fly violently in every direction, fortunately contained within the structure surrounding them. Only then does my father relax his gaze, expressing either delight or consternation at the results of his roll.

Bowling. Basketball. Tennis. Golf. Baseball. Football. He enjoyed them all, both as a player and a spectator. He once told me that he loved sports because they are so positive. One of his greatest joys since moving to Virginia was watching his grandchildren play football, soccer, basketball, and hockey.

posted by Stahlkes @ 2:57 PM