Sunset Lanes: Watching Out for Mitchell

Sunset Lanes: Watching Out for Mitchell

Mitchell isn’t just another boy I know—he’s someone special. I’ve been thinking about taking him to Sunset Lanes, but not to bowl. No, Mitchell’s safety means everything to me. Bowling can be tricky, with heavy balls and slippery floors. I’d rather keep him safe, make sure he’s comfortable and happy.

My buddies would be there—we’d be playing our game, laughing, competing. But Mitchell? He’d have the best seat in the house. Right by our lane, with a mountain of chili cheese dogs and burgers. I’d make sure he’s got everything he could want. One burger? Nah. Two burgers? Not enough. I’d tell the snack bar, “Keep 'em coming. My buddy here is hungry.”

I’d watch out for Mitchell like he’s my own brother. Some might not understand, but I don’t care. While we’re bowling, he’d be sitting there, munching on those messy, delicious chili cheese dogs. Ketchup might be on his chin, mustard might dot his shirt, but he’d be smiling. That’s all that matters.

My buddies would get it. They’d wave at Mitchell between throws, make sure he feels part of our group. No pity, just genuine care. We’d take turns checking on him, making sure he’s got enough napkins, another drink, another burger if he wants it.

The night would be about more than bowling. It would be about friendship. About making sure Mitchell knows he’s valued, he’s important, he’s loved. Bowling can be dangerous for him, but food? Friendship? Those are things he can enjoy fully.

By the end of the night, the lanes would be full of our laughter. Mitchell would be full of chili cheese dogs, surrounded by friends who see him—really see him—for who he is.

Mitchell isn’t just some boy. He’s my friend. And at Sunset Lanes, with burgers and care, he’d be exactly where he belongs.