I survived a bowling party

Our orthodontist graciously hosted what they called a Fiesta Bowl Party for all of his clients and their families plus one friend. They had games, raffle prizes, the bowling of course, bracelet making, a pinata, snacks galore, disco balls, a DJ, tons of activity and noise and fun--just a free gift to us all! I was astonished.

Maybe I'm getting old, but I'm easily fatigued and overwhelmed by sensory overstimulation. I felt like I had spent two hours at Chuck E Cheese's, and it ended just about the same. You know how you get tickets to turn into a prize station at Chuck E Cheese? And the kids collect fistfuls of tickets and take them up with such high hopes for the stuffed animals only to choose from the case with rubber lizards and plastic smiley face rings? They had a similar set-up at this party, only the prizes were a bit more substantial. Various items were available for a given number of tickets, but you didn't need a thousand tickets to get some of the more interesting items.

We got to the prize table late, however, at the end of the party when everyone was redeeming their tickets, pressing against the table as they pondered.

One of my soft-spoken daughters, who moves slowly and contemplatively, had finally decided on and selected some maracas. Hands and tickets were flying around as kids were making their final selections. She gave over her tickets but may have expected the supervising person to hand her the maracas. In the noise and confusion, another girl picked up the last maracas and that was that. No more maracas, and now my girl shuffled to me through the thick crowd and explained her problem while gasping and crying.

I explained the situation to the person taking tickets hoping there might be more maracas. She wasn't sympathetic, not at all. No more maracas. Choose from what's left. Maybe my daughter came off spoiled or greedy--after all, the enter event was a giveaway, so everything was bonus. But maybe that lady doesn't know what it's like to live with a softspoken girl whom I've spent years teaching manners. I've tried to teach my kids not to be rude and grab, let others go first, etc. As a result, she wasn't bold and assertive enough to get in there and snatch what she wanted. She ended up settling for some tiny items--two packs of rub-on tattoos and a crocheted beanie hat. She bought her brother some clay. She tried to smile.

Meanwhile my son at age four didn't understand the concept of a raffle and in spite of my clear and repeated explanation thought that the soccer ball he selected would be his. He did not, however, win it. So then I consoled him during five minutes of weeping simultaneous to the lost-maracas tears. He improved when his lost-maracas sister bought him the clay, however, so that was an improvement.

Finally, we stood around waiting to see who would win the biggest giveaway of the evening--two NBA tickets. Our guest had put in her name, so we had to wait and see. They gave away the aforementioned soccer ball (you recall the tears), a basket of gourmet coffees, a restaurant gift certificate, scrapbook supplies, facial products, and then the tickets. The entire party was hushed, waiting to hear the name drawn. Long pause.

Our guest! Our guest won the tickets! It had been so noisy all night, I squealed, not realizing that it would be totally quiet with disappointment all around. She claimed her tickets and the party was over.

We drove home, a car full of mixed emotions--delight for our friend, maracas grief and soccer ball sadness, total mom exhaustion.

I kept thinking about the tickets for our friend. Any day they may sell their house and move, as her dad has already started his job two states away. If the house doesn't sell for a while, they'll stay longer while he commutes home on the weekends. It's been hard on the entire family. This thing is hanging over her head at all times--that she is leaving and will have to say good-bye to all that she knows and loves--but it hasn't yet happened. I think it's been very difficult for her, as it would be for anyone at any age.

So many people wanted those tickets. I wish they could know that a young girl beginning the sometimes unappreciated grief that accompanies a move has something tangible to hold onto: On one day in April, whether she's in this state or the one she's moving to, she knows she'll be in town to attend the fun of an NBA game with her mom or dad.

Well, we dropped off our prize-winning friend, drove home and had dinner. The kids got ready for bed and I went in to say good-night. My little maracas girl still seemed melancholy.

"What's wrong?" I asked, pulling back the covers under which she was hiding.

"Everyone has an instrument but me. Papa has a trumpet, you have a clarinet and a guitar, and my sisters have a glockenspiel and the piano, and my brother has a recorder. I don't have anything that's mine...I really wanted those maracas."

Sigh. I want to teach her gratitude, have her write a thank-you note to the orthodontist, put on her tattoos and realize it was all a gift.

But I also wish she could have had the maracas.