The Grace in Her Game

The Grace in Her Game

By B.C. Castillo

There’s something sacred about watching your child do what they love.

Not just because of the pins that fall or the scores on the screen—but because of the quiet strength it takes to keep showing up, to keep growing, to keep being yourself in front of the world.

Today, I watched Bella Love bowl with her friends. I watched her laugh with Max, listen to Brady, soak in Colton’s final moments as part of their team. I saw her stretch, slide, focus, and reset. She didn’t have snacks today. She forgot the scissors. She fouled in the first game. And none of that mattered in the way most people think it does.

What mattered is that she stayed present.

What mattered is that she stayed kind.

What mattered is that she kept going.

In the middle of the frames, in the spaces between strikes and spares, I saw something more powerful than performance. I saw grace. I saw joy. I saw the fullness of her spirit—quietly shining as she bowled through each moment of the day.

She ended the day with a 603 in doubles and a 627 in singles. But those numbers are just shadows of the real story.

The real story was the support from her friends.

The way her bosses, Megan and Paige, showed up with their boys.

The way she took time to connect, to laugh, to care.

The real story was the way we jumped a car, carried bags, watched baseball, and found each other in all the small moments between the big ones.

Bella is becoming more than a bowler.

She is becoming a light in the lives of those around her.

And as her dad, I don’t just watch her grow—I grow with her.

So tonight, as the day winds down and the shoes are off and the house is still, I carry one thought in my heart:

I’m proud of who she is.

Not for what she scores.

But for how she lives.