A Fore Letter Word

Let’s talk about golf, shall we?  Golf is something of an addiction.  Once you get hooked, you just can’t stop.  But I suppose that only applies to those who are good at golf, myself not included.  My dad, however, loves golf.  It comes third, after only  his family and his work.  To him, golf is more than just a game.  It is a way of life, a philosophical challenge that can be applied to all aspects of daily living.  When I am having trouble in school or in dance, my dad readily offers a golf analogy that he believes will help me overcome my problems.  I tried to learn to play, once.  My friend Hannah and I enrolled in a one-week golf camp.  To give you an idea of how horrible I was, let me tell you about the driving competition.  Not in a car, but hitting the ball with a driver.  There was a prize for the longest and shortest drives.  My ball went backwards, but I still lost in the shortest drive category.  Somebody else’s ball went further backwards. 

My brother shares my dad’s passion, and the whole family has accepted that I have no golf potential (although my dad always said I had the perfect swing), but my dad has spent years trying to convince my mom to take it up.  My mom always refused, not even giving it a second thought.   She called it “your golf” when speaking to my dad about it.  She knew it was good for him to have a hobby, but she had no interest. But all of that just changed. 

About two months ago, my mom received a call while the two of us were out walking.  This is what I heard:

“Hello? Is everything ok?...What?... (Laughter)… Oh you can’t be serious…That’s awfully sweet of you but I couldn’t…Alright I’ll consider it.”

I asked who it was, and my mom said it was Steve, my dad’s golf teacher.  Apparently they had been discussing me going off to college, and Steve thought it would be fun if my mom learned to play golf as something for my parents  to do in their empty-nester phase.  He offered to give her a few lessons, and to keep the whole thing secret from  my dad.  My mom immediately wrote the idea off as ridiculous, but I told her she had to do it.  It would make my dad the happiest man in the world if he could play just one game of golf with my mom.  So she said she would try. 

Thus, the lessons began.  My mom showed up for her weekly lessons, and slowly but surely learned to enjoy golf, just a little bit. She would arrive dreading the next hour, but would leave giddy at her accomplishments. Steve called her tadpole, kindly poking fun at her beginner’s status.  I would come home from school, greeted with funny stories about the lessons and my mom’s soreness.  After the first lesson, she was so excited because she realized that there is a whole new market out there for vinyl golf accessories: bags, shoes, gloves, club covers, the works.  I think I saw her eyes sparkle a little bit just thinking about it. 

So my brother, my mom and I kept this little project a secret for about two months, when my mom finally broke the news to my dad.  She left a wrapped sleeve of golf balls out for him (my suggestion, might I add) with a card.  He read the card, in which she explained the whole story, and when he got to the part about her actually taking the lessons, his eyes bugged out and he mad a face that showed a cross between intense joy and disbelief.  She told him that they would pick a date that they could go out and play together.  He looked like a little kid who had just been handed a credit cared and let loose in Toys R Us.  So who knows?  Maybe my mom will continue this little endeavor and learn to love golf. 

If you are already a golfer, or this story has inspired you to take up golf, you know you are going to need to carry around all of your golf accessories.  And who wants to carry all of that around in your hands? Unacceptable.  So when you are looking for the perfect tote bag to transport your tools, you know where to find one. 

-Emma