My daughter made 11 recently and we celebrated by hosting a party for her and her friends at Aiea Bowl. We rented a pair of lanes, ordered pizzas, polished off some cake and then opened gifts. After three hours of mirth and merriment, Mom and I looked at each other satisfied that the experience was one my daughter would cherish for years to come. We did good.

Being a parent is tough. Always has been, always will be. Most parents have a healthy disbelief in their ability to care for another soul only to find out that they can do it. The kids get fed, clothed, schooled and generally cared for on a daily basis. The basic needs are met.

Still, most of us realize that we can't be all things to all people, yet when it comes to our kids, that is exactly what we attempt. Our fall is predictable if often unexpected. It is the seasoned parent who realizes that others can play a significant role in the life of their child. My father was just such a man. He realized that he would always be my father, but that I could do with a few more father figures.

In many ways, celebrating my daughter's birthday at Aiea Bowl was a coming home for me. You see, I spent the majority of my formative years on the lanes in 'Aiea. More alley cat than gym rat, my childhood was filled with the sound of crashing pins rather than bouncing balls.

And so it was appropriate that upon entering the alley I immediately saw several old friends and more importantly, the one-time owner of Aiea Bowl, Mako Kobayashi. Mako was an ardent supporter of junior bowling, and critical for my own development, a believer in a scrawny Portuguese kid from the Wai'anae coast.

I decided earlier that morning to take my bowling ball and shoes just in case I felt the urge to roll a few lines. My first game was a dismal 152. I would like to have scored better, but the old bones and stiff muscles had no give. Mako stood behind me laughing at the sorry state of my game, but politely applauded my spares and then returned to work. I warmed up for my second game and shot a 231. Not stellar, but far from pedestrian.

When I saw Mako again, I asked him, "Where were you? I finally rolled a good game and you disappeared!"

Mako smiled and accused me of showing off. He was right, I was showing off, but not for me; it was for him. I wanted him to know that the hours he invested were not in vain. I wanted him to see that I had not forgotten what he taught me and that those lessons extended far beyond the lanes. Mostly, I wanted to thank him for believing in me when I found it hard to believe in myself.

I have been blessed with a wonderful father, but he could not have done it alone. Kids like me needed men like Mako.

Thanks, Mako, for all that you have done for me and so many others. I am hopeful that my daughter will have mentors in her life much like I have had in mine.

Being a parent is tough and I know I can't do it alone.

Michael C. DeMattos is a member of the faculty at the University of Hawai'i School of Social Work. Born and raised on the Wai'anae Coast, he now lives in Kane'ohe with his wife, daughter, two dogs and two mice.