Zaw and the Mastery of Bowling

I had never met someone named Zaw but his name seemed to fit him well. Zaw Lott was his full name and he was about the size of a jockey only he didn't have the large weathered hands. He had dark tanned skin and a wonderful smile that was more of a smirk. This was his very first trip to the United States, however, I failed to ask him if it was his first trip out of Myanmar, a country that has been renamed by a strong military force and I know as Burma.

Zaw wore a pink colored polo shirt that was missing any sign of an emblem and looked freshly pressed. The pink didn't seem to be a true pink, but had a hint of a peach color, that slightly clashed with his off-color peach pants. His belt neatly divided the two colors, like a borderline on a world map. A sleek silver watch slid up and down his tiny wrist. He was a quiet man and even when I sat directly in front of him at lunch, I found myself asking all the questions. I thought at first he might not understand me, which sometimes was the case, but more often he just seemed embarrassed by my questions. I wanted to know about his country. I wanted to know about the town he was born in, the house he lived in, and the job he did at Save the Children. He said very little about any of it.

Zaw remained quiet and with few expressions until our bowling trip, an adventure arranged to help our group do a little more bonding. I never thought about the oddity of bowling until I tried to explain it all to Zaw. He didn't ask me to explain it of course, but I found it to be my American duty to tell him all about it.

I said to him, "There are these things at the end of an alley, well a small sort of little road, and you take a ball and try and knock them all over. I mean you roll the ball." Zaw just smiled and looked perplexed.

I gave up on my pre-trip attempts and decided to just wait until we arrived at the alley. When we walked into the alley, I could tell the noise of the place just seemed scary to Zaw. But soon enough, Zaw was wearing red, white, and blue bowling shoes and had selected a ball that had small enough holes for his tiny fingers.

There were more Zaws from around the world with us. Nicaragua, Thailand, Egypt, El Salvador, Jordan, Angola, etc. And more Zaws who didn't know bowling, but my eyes stayed glued to Zaw. He was so excited, so nervous, so ....While I tried to get the scoring setup, Zaw watched the other people at the alley, studying them for process for form, for details of exactly what he was suppose to do. And soon, Zaw was ready.

He was the first one of our group to try this new sport. He walked down the alley and with perfect form he bowled a strike.He ran back with such excitement. I yelled and screamed like I was at a high school pep rally. And all the other Zaws from around the world celebrated as well. We shook his hand, patted him on the back, and hugged him. Zaw beamed with pure joy. He had mastered bowling. He had mastered America.

Zaw was now no longer a shy distant guy from a country that I have never been to, a place with problems that I will probably only read about in the newspapers. But Zaw was on our team, just part of a team who didn't all wear the same uniform, but at least all wore the same shoes. Red, white and blue bowling shoes.



By Linda English