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.