I've never liked bowling—the unforgiving bright lights, the thunderous rumble and headsplitting crash of the balls and pins, the sweaty fingers, the smelly shoes, the cheap beer and greasy pizza. But a few years ago it was the perfect thing for my husband and young son to do together. For some reason (involving the Y chromosome, l think), both seemed to enjoy throwing large objects. Also, they weren't bothered by loud noises, sweat, wearing other people's shoes, or lousy pizza. So almost every Sunday the two of them would go off to our neighborhood bowling alley (which sits, unattractively, above New York City’s largest bus station) to spend some quality time together.

One afternoon they invited me along. Or maybe I was lonely and invited myself. But there l was, having declined to join their game, perched on a cold, hard, orange plastic seat, sipping a Bud. I should confess here that l could watch my son do anything—trim his fingernails, stare absently into space—and feel the kind of awe one might feel looking at the Pieta. Seeing him bowl for the first time in competition with his dad was really fun. Then it was my husband's turn. He cooled his palms on the vent; picked up his ball; held it so easily in front of him that it looked as if it were nearly weightless. And in one gorgeous, graceful, fluid motion, he sent that ball spinning down the alley—the exact center of the alley—with such force that it seemed the pins flew out of the way a moment before the ball reached them, just to avoid getting hit. A strike! And then another. And another.

Something inside of me shifted. Watching my husband, I felt the way you might if you took a bite out of what appeared to be a Twinkie and discovered that it was instead the most delectable angel food cake, loaded with exquisite custard. And this Twinkie was mine. Suddenly, I remembered a postcard he'd given me, picturing a World War II battleship smoking its way across a choppy sea. On the back, he had written: I'm a hefty hunk of steamin' junk for you, baby.

What can l tell you? I wanted to bowl with him all night long.