It was hard to watch as the heavy equipment lambasted the sides and tore down the roof. For almost seven years this bowling center, with its smell of oil and fast food, was home to my daughter and son, who were part of a youth bowling league. It was where they competed in tournaments, went to coaching clinics and knew everyone who worked there. We spent so much time at the place that it felt like our second home. Even if I left for a couple of hours, I knew Jesse, Laverne, Matt, Arlene and a slew of other hires would keep an eye on my kids.

While other parents were taking their children to soccer, basketball and Little League practices, I was driving my children to the bowling alley on Sunday and Saturday mornings and after school so they could take lessons, improve their spin and hook or learn the intricacies of oily and dry lanes.

We had all the gear, which after a while included several high-end bowling balls, shoes and snazzy-looking bowling bags. We traveled with the league around California to state tournaments, and we even went to barbecues and other activities with this group of kid bowlers and their parents.

Then somewhere along the way my children decided that bowling was no longer their thing, but leaving one sport for another didn't erase the memories of watching small children grow up to discover the excitement of winning, the toughness of losing or the camaraderie developed through team play.

Even after we stopped being regulars and only dropped by occasionally at Saratoga—or any other bowling center, for that matter—the sound of the balls thundering down the lanes and people cheering when they made a tough shot, strike or spare offered a sense of coming home.

Now there's no denying that bowling centers still retain their stereotypical image—a place where shifty characters frequent the bar and pool tables—but we never keyed into that aspect. For us, it was the glow-in-the-dark games for charity or the league parties with pizza and soda. This was our experience.

Yet perhaps this murkier side—with its less-than-glamorous look and reputation for bowling while having a cold one—played into the sport's demise. Not to mention sunny California. Who the heck wants to be inside a dark building on a beautiful summer day?

But there is also something sad in knowing that a long-enjoyed pastime, which was once part of American culture, is being torn down without anyone raising an eyebrow.

I can't say I didn't see it coming. Saratoga Lanes was owned by AMF, which went into Chapter 11, and the property was just too valuable not to be redeveloped once the bowling center's lease was up. But we all had hope. Especially when AMF replaced all 32 wooden lanes with synthetic ones only a year before the lease expired. But new lanes or not, cold, hard cash talks the loudest. And all three bowls—Fiesta, Alma and Saratoga—are being redeveloped into housing projects.

Yet when I drove by a few days ago, it was difficult to watch the lanes' destruction. It wasn't so much the sport as the memories that brought on the sadness. All the birthday parties, friends and fun times shared by so many was now so easily and swiftly eliminated with the rip of a backhoe. I'm not sure how many folks care. I know I do, and I'm sorry to see it end.

Those at Saratoga have moved on to Oakridge Lanes. And Cambrian Bowl and Brunswick Lanes are the other two survivors in the area with leagues. They may even have a shot at staying around a bit longer, because the lanes are all located in retail complexes.

But when the sound of the machinery stops at Saratoga Lane and all 32 lanes have been reduced to mere dust, it will undeniably be the end of an era.

Moryt Milo is the editor of The Willow Glen Resident. She can be contacted at 400.200.1051 or mmilo@svcn.com.