Suburbia, I think, tends to be pretty static by nature. You could pick up my neighborhood and plunk it down in the 1950s and it wouldn’t seem terribly out of place — aside from the prevalence of yoga pants, minivans, and iPhones.
Like our neighbors, we grill out on weekends, rake our leaves, and go to high school football games. We walk our dogs, teach our kids how to ride bikes, and congregate at the bus stop in the morning. People routinely dog-sit for others, take in their mail when they are on vacation, and keep their lights on at night. We complain about cars speeding in our subdivision’s streets, as we watch the kids play basketball in the driveway. We cheer at little League games, ask for recommendations on repairmen, and grouse about the rabbits eating our gardens’ harvest. Just like our parents did before us.
There’s a certain comfort level there in the same-ness of it all, but I never really noticed the 1950s-meets-2013 suburban lifestyle we’ve been leading until this past week.
That’s when we joined our neighborhood bowling league.
The mere fact that we have a bowling league in our neighborhood should have been the first indicator that we might headed down the same path as those who mowed these lawns before us. We heard about it through a friend and signed up at the last minute, after she assured us that it was not a competitive league. It’s just neighbors getting together to have some fun each month, she said.
We didn’t know the other couple on our team, but we figured we’d meet new people and have a few laughs. Each month, the league meets to bowl three games (with a handicap to help those like me who suffer from “gutterballitis”) and eat and drink a little something. There’s even a banquet of sorts at the end of the season.
It really could have been an evening in 1958 or so, except for the fact that the bowling alley was completely non-smoking. I bowled one of my best trio of games ever, averaging about 90. The guy we were paired with? He bowled a 234 — in one game.
I hope they don’t hate us for killing their chances at winning a title or trophy or something (because with our scores, we definitely are not the wind beneath their wings).
As my husband S tried to tell them, “I don’t know what we’re doing wrong. We’re fantastic at Wii bowling.” And with that, we landed squarely back in 2013.
Anyone else out there feel like they’re back to the future in suburbia too? And does anyone have any tips for a horrible, gutterball-prone bowler — other than to set up the bumpers?