A simple bowling alley, a time-honored tradition, a chance to do more.
Prophecies foretold of a time when a child would be born in Lincoln, Neb. and refuse to accept his lot in life. Any boy could wait for toys to be delivered to him, passively passing away his existence hoping a bear would fall in his hands by conveyance of a benefactor -- but this child would want more.
The mountain was tall, the road perilous and cramped, "Never stop climbing" the boy told himself, dodging the claw and avoiding plexiglass burns to finally make it to his destiny. He played games the likes of which you'll never play, dreamed dreams those of which you'll never have.
That boy grew up to be Theodore Roosevelt.*
*This is a lie