Bowling for Fireflies
Dad looked cool as hell throwing his first strike, shocking absolutely no one. I expected no different as I tried emulating his movements during my turn. I got a split and left a pin on the spare.
Then it was Lil Phil’s turn.
The lightest ball they had seemed to weigh more than his tiny ass. We watched him struggle, wind up, throw the bowling ball like a shot put, and fall flat on his ass. The ball sounded like it would go through the floor when it landed about a foot from Phil’s Pocket-Herculean toss, before creeping towards the pins at an obscenely leisurely pace.
spring becomes summer
sunlight stretched to horizon
I shall keep this day
Dad and I fell over each other laughing hysterically in spite of ourselves. After a moment, Phil started laughing too. The ball was almost halfway to the pins as we helped the little guy to his feet. Phil was grinning; always with that grin that seemed to know where mom hid the last of the cookies. Dad reassured Phil that one day he would be bigger and strong enough to handle a bowling ball instead of it handling him. The ball was nearing the end of its journey as I playfully ruffled his hair.
Then we all turned our attention to Phil’s ball as it slowly, painstakingly nudged each and every pin out of its way; an uncanny microcosm of Phil’s unhurried, determined, free-spirited personal philosophy.
My brother had thrown a strike. The heavy ball made a mockery of him, but per usual, Phil got the last laugh.
starlight blinks awake
they salute the setting sun
gently, fades the dusk
We laughed even harder at the absurd luck as we all high-fived.
I’m certain we had other moments, but I will cherish that instant forever as my favorite mental snapshot; the three Dawson men just kickin’ it in the bowling alley, smiling, laughing, and politely debating whether rap music was actually music (Phil and I were absolutely hooked, but Dad held back, thinking it was just another fad, like disco.) We genuinely enjoyed ourselves and each other in a transcendent night at the bowling alley.
A little over one and a half score later finds Lil Phil a grown man, a devoted husband, amazing father, and wise far beyond his 38 years. But in many ways, he’s still that determined little guy throwing strikes with a grin while laughing at the idiocy of fate.
fireflies dance with stars
I cup them with my mind’s hands
captured memories
***

Big Phil with his son, my nephew, “Thundercat”
Happy birthday, Big Phil, my plucky little brother.
hahaha what a fantastic memory!!
And I so love how you wrote it up! Very nice!
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Thank you!
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This is awesome, Barry! Your nephew is too cute! He looks a lot like your brother did when he was little. Wow at how amazing genes are!
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Thank you. Them Dawson genes are powerful stuff!
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Yes, they are. You’re most welcome!
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This is absolutely beautiful Barry. I see that you have a brilliant mind like that of Phyterrian’s, remembering in great detail. I just love it. Thank you so much for sharing that memory.
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Thanks, Monica! I try to just remember the good parts, and that’s my guy!
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You set this up so well…I knew he was gonna make a strike. Good to have such a tight memory and a deep connection with your lil bruv.
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Thank you. And you knew far more than we did! Happiest. Accident. Ever.
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Cherished memories. Haibun is a great form for narrative. Thundercat is adorable. What a great name ! The haiku are stunning as well.
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Thank you. I call him that because I can’t pronounce his name.
I’m a shitty uncle. 🙂
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A great story..the haibun works wonderfully. Enjoyed it very much!
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Your interjected haikus are gorgeous, Barry!
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I love this. thank you. ~
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This is such a beautiful haibun!❤️
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Your memories twining with exquisite haiku Barry ~ Love this personal share ~
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