As a BIG gamer, I, of course, couldn't WAIT to participate in our planned virtual experience at Hilton's
Top Golf Swing Suite. In retrospect, I believe divine intervention led us to fly out of Rochester rather than Buffalo as the Museum of Play had a TON of retro-games set up in Concourses A and B. "Pac-Man!" I squealed happily, throwing myself at the familiar machine before moving on to its neighbor. I gripped the joystick with gusto and methodically picked off the slowly descending aliens that were trying to invade my space. And then...bigger than life...the grand-daddy of all out-dated simulated programs: Pong!
With such a rich background in gaming, I was sure to be a natural in the Swing Suite. I did worry, briefly, about my work-related injury...having sprained my dominant wrist doing the do-si-do...but Savannah assured me that there would be snacks and beverages there so I quickly laid my fears to rest.
My daughter attempted to gently nudge me in the direction of a "mock"-tail. "You did imbibe a bit yesterday," she explained. "How do you figure?" I asked indignantly. "You mis-spelled some words, sang with the waiter, and plucked a discarded cowboy hat out of the trash to wear home," she replied. "I was being personable!" I insisted, "And I was re-purposing the hat!"
It turns out that my enthusiasm for virtual gaming amps up in direct proportion to the number of drinks I consume. My aim and coordination kind of takes a hit but Douglas, who remained calm and cool in the face of the zombie apocalypse, especially when partnered with an unbalanced ally, merely fed me the balls and told me when to throw. I was eventually cut off when I did my best Ed Norton from the
Honeymooners: (Carefully placing the golf ball atop the tee). "First," I told my confused audience, "you must address the ball." I gave a low, lopsided bow. "Hello, ball." "She's done," Savannah immediately announced to our server. "But I didn't spell anything wrong this time," I protested.
We played hockey, golf, soccer, and carnival games. I was TERRIBLE at it all. Douglas carefully analyzed each one so as to implement the best strategic approach. I presume our groups' willy-nilly, broad-side-of-a-barn attitude frustrated him slightly. Imagine my delight when he adopted my method of hitting the ground and throwing the ball from a mostly prone position (Like all great inventions, I discovered this posture accidentally.).
Our concluding visit to the gift shop following our fun yielded yet another sign from the universe. I stopped, stunned and speechless, at the sight of a spiritual pillar...for the Children of Israel, the Lord appeared as a pillar of smoke during the day and a plume of fire at night to help lead them as they crossed unfamiliar territory. For Amy Mosiman, passing through this foreign land, apparently the Lord chose to speak to me in a language of comfort and compassion. Sydney had wandered back to retrieve me. I gripped her arm and directed her gaze at this miraculous wonder. "Is that Zac Efron, dressed like my Lord and Savior, emblazoned on a candle?" I asked, still not believing my eyes. "Anything's possible," she conceded, refusing to relinquish
the money I'd given her for safe-keeping to purchase this religious relic. "I've never been a big fan," one member of our party admitted. "Of the Lord or Zac Ephron?" I asked. "Zac Ephron." We gasped.
No one took my religious awakening seriously. In fact, I was waiting for one of them to be struck by lightning as it quickly became a habit to use his name in vain. "Can you hurry up, Zac-dammit!" How do you spell "blasphemy?"
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