All in the Family

The day after Thanksgiving is traditionally a very crowded day on the golf course. I managed to get hubby to agree to play with me and I was able to snag the last available late-morning tee time which would allow us to get in 18 holes before dark. We were paired with a 30-something guy and his 12-year-old nephew who was so adorable it made my ovaries hurt. The boy was small for his age, but he swung the club with a natural, child-like abandon that often resulted in shots better than everyone else’s. His uncle, on the other hand, was under the tutelage of a golf buddy, who was either a terrible golfer or giving out bad advice as a joke. When the uncle addressed the ball, it looked like he was squatting to take a poop. But he was a nice guy who explained that he only played golf a few times a year, whenever he and his family got together for the holidays. He pointed to the foursome ahead of us. “That’s my family over there. Dad, brother, brother-in-law, and my other nephew. Dad’s the real golfer because he’s retired and has the most time to play. He’s good, but he gets kind of angry if he doesn’t play well.”

As the round progressed, I could see that anger kind of ran in the family. Whenever the uncle would hit a bad shot, which was almost every time, he’d fling the club at the dirt and mutter a self-admonition to himself, such as, “Really? Again?” What was interesting was that the nephew picked up on it, imitating the club-flinging and self-flagellating comments, although not as often since he didn’t hit as many bad shots.

It didn’t help that my hubby outdrove the uncle by about 100 yards. After nine holes, the uncle must’ve cried uncle, because he shook our hands and said he and his nephew were going to switch with two other family members at the turn.

So the uncle and nephew were replaced with the uncle’s brother and the other nephew, in other words, a father and son. It turned out the father was also a pastor, and for a pastor, he sure cursed up a storm. (Call me Pollyanna, but I consider “dangit” a curse.) And he liked to use golf clubs to kick up dirt too. I asked him what kind of pastor he was, and he said “nondenominational,” which is probably why he didn’t say “Jesus” as a curse word. His son was two years older than the other son, i.e. the nephew I’d played with on the front nine. His hair was shorn close to his head, which gave him a forlorn look. He didn’t need to look so sad, since he had a decent swing. But he cursed and threw the club at the ground too, as though those learned behaviors were part of the rules of the game.

Occasionally, I’d hear a very loud, annoyed, “Goddarnit!” emanating from the group ahead, and there was really no question who it had come from. Like father, like uncle, like brother, like son.   

The Future and Other Buzzkills

A few weeks ago, when I had first gotten my new driver, I was at the range breaking it in. It had taken me about half a bucket to figure out how to hold the grip so I wasn’t pulling every shot left. I had just hit one or two perfect, straight drives that flew at and over the 170-yard target mound when I heard someone say, “For such a little girl, you got a big swing!” I looked up to see an ancient old man with a face weathered by age and perhaps illness setting up his golf bag in the stall next to me. I was annoyed at the interruption and wasn’t sure what to make of the comment, so I smiled grudgingly and forced a whispered “hee hee” giggle out of my mouth, pretending I was a shy Korean who couldn’t speak English. A frown of confusion shadowed the old man’s face, and he left to go fetch a bucket of balls.

A wave of guilt immediately overcame me, but I rushed to refocus. I hit one or two more perfectly straight, long drives, and I was pleased that the old man hadn’t irreparably broken my reverie after all. So when he returned, I apologized. “Hey, I’m sorry if I was rude before. I had just figured something out with my swing and I didn’t want to forget it.” Then I went on to babble proudly about my new Ping G20 driver and how it was helping me gain extra yards off the tee.

Being an old man, he had also switched to game-improvement drivers recently, and I listened to him explain the benefits of the TaylorMade Rocketballz and Burner clubs he’d turned to. “I can’t swing like I used to, and these help a lot,” he said.

As we returned to our separate stalls, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad. I wondered how long I had at this game till I wouldn’t be able to swing like I used to. Then again, I feel so far from the apex of my game that I haven’t yet reached the point where I could imagine lamenting swinging “like I used to.”

But I know someday that point will come. I had just graduated from ladies’ flex shafts to regular mens’ flex. I thought I could donate my old ladies’ flex G2 to someone in need. But maybe the day will come when I’d regress and need that old thing again.

I looked at the old man, his back turned to me and his head lowered, gazing at his rubber tee, and I thought, “You’ve been where I am. Where you are now is where someday I will be.”

When I had finished my bucket of balls, I left quietly without saying goodbye to the old man. I had a feeling I’d see him around again, either at the range or sometime in the future, at the big golf course in the sky. There, everyone’s tee shots will fly straight and perfect, and it won’t matter what club you use.

Driver Love

I love my new driver and 3-wood so much I sometimes have the urge to kiss them. Of all my clubs, they are the only ones I still keep the head covers on when I'm out on the course. I let all the other clubs go bare to lighten my walking cart load. But my new Ping G-20 driver and 3-wood -- well, I still keep their socks on. I've had them for a couple of weeks now and we are all getting along quite well. I've been playing Diamond Ridge, one of the longer public courses in the county, and recently I was able to break 100, shooting 97 and 98 the last two times out. This is something I've never done before at that course. I know I could do even better, but I get so excited when I hit driver and 3-wood super-long that I just lose focus on the shorter shots. This may change when I get around to buying new irons. I am lusting for the Ping G20 irons, but I am waiting to see if black Friday will bring a major price drop.

Today I hit two notable drives of 220 and 225 yards. These were on relatively flat fairways with no helping wind. My new driver does seem to propel the ball with more forward roll, and these distances were longer than I've ever hit before. It felt a bit like breaking the sound barrier.

There was one par 4 hole that is 230 yards from the red tees, but it is a sharp dogleg right that beckons the reasonable mind to aim at the bend in the fairway, rather than tee off over a large bunker and directly at the hole. Today I felt so confident with my driver that I decided to go for it. Of course, I landed in the bunker, but I was close. So close. Just a few more yards and I would have cleared the bunker easily. Can't wait to try again.