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Golf With Dad

The excitement was palpable on one bright Friday morning, during the summer of my 12th year. This was the day when my Dad bought my first set of clubs at a yard sale, a set of Wilson irons 2-W, and three Persimmon Wood Fairway Woods by Wilson as well. The beautiful beat up old clubs were wrapped in a tattered red leather bag, attached to a rickety slim line pull cart with white rubber wheels and wire spokes. I worked on those clubs all day and evening with brasso, trying to make them shine. He gave me some old balls, with which I threw straight into a bucket of warm soapy water, and shined them like gems that had been forgotten. All this hard work in preparation for tomorrow’s big game, my very first! I couldn’t sleep that night; anxious energy tingled in my veins like electricity. In my dreams, I was going to be the next Palmer.

Dressed to the tops in my Sunday apparel, we were off before sunrise to the golf course, I remember my Dad just telling me that I had to be patient, it wasn’t going to be a sure thing, like baseball or basketball were for me. I knew that was just his opinion, I was ready! Standing there on the first tee box, looking down the fairway toward the luminous green 354 yards away, I was mesmerized. I remember the smell of the damp grass, the warm wind caressing my cheeks, causing my hair to do a dance of joy. The other two of our foursome came early and had a twinkle in their eyes that matched mine. It was like an indoctrination; they were all taking part in. I was so alive, standing so high, my Dad’s hand on my shoulder his words whispering past my ear, “It’s your turn.” he said, “Take it slow and give a nice smooth swing, make sure to watch the club hit the ball.” Now other than playing around in the front yard with clubs and going down to the school to hit junk balls on the playground with my dad, this was the first for me. I addressed the ball, sheepishly, as if trying to sneak up on it. I looked at my Dad, his eyes so bright, when he gave the nod. I reared back too quick on my back swing, and with a knock of the knees and twist of my torso, I somehow got that darn club back to the ball. Like a rocket that little yellow Top Flight took off….it was the greatest sky ball anyone had ever hit, landing at the bottom of the tee boxes about 50 yards away. It was love at first swing.

My Dad a very hard working blue collar kind of guy, worked hard during the week, sometimes even early Saturday mornings, but come Saturday afternoon, on most weekends, Dad and I were at the golf course. We were a lower middle class family in the Central California Valley, we went to church on Sundays, and had a happy home life full of love. Money was tight at times, but those Saturdays were for Dad and I. He would do side jobs, on friends’ cars in the garage, or paint in the evening, just to stick away a little golf money. We always walked the course because it was cheaper, but that also gave us time to talk along the way. We would always discuss the upcoming shot, Dad normally stooping down enroute to the ball to pinch some grass and give it a toss. I was usually down wind and got an ear full of grass, but I loved to watch it fall. My Dad always said, “This is a game of patience, and repetition, always count on a bad shot or two, but always keep your eyes open for the shot that saves the day.”

Through the years we played when we could, college and life put miles between us, but golf and love always has kept us close. It is our bridge that crosses over the miles, the differences of opinion, the growth of the world around us. My Dad’s love for golf, the lessons that he taught me through this great game, are irreplaceable in my mind. He got to go to Pebble Beach a couple times, he played some nice courses here and there, but his favorite course remains the same. The same little local course that he introduced me to 21 years ago.

My Dad was diagnosed with Glioblastoma Multiforme, a terminal brain cancer, in March 2007. He stopped working due to seizures and surgeries. He never stopped golfing, he would golf if a friend wanted to play or he was playing alone. Every chance he got he was out there swinging that club. Last Father’s Day, I came for a visit, and we played 3 rounds of golf that weekend. He talked about his cancer while walking the bright green fairways of his local course, he said, “It is what it is, I’ll keep kickin cans as long as I can kick them, and keep chasing this little white ball as long as I have the strength to hit it.” For Father’s Day, I gave him two mock tickets to the Master’s in Augusta. I told him, that as long as he is healthy we are going! He was overjoyed and just knew that He would will himself there.

After being away for many years, working and living my independent life, we often get together for golf, and laughs. I recently moved back near my Dad in December of this last year. The reason for this move was golf, love, and terminal illness. In the cold California Central Valley, damp, wet, and cool, we hit good ol’ Dryden the day after my arrival. This was the beginning of a new love, of a father and son, brought together once again with the help of golf, mending that bridge, that at times had broken down, and become like my first old rickety cart. I shot a 153 on a par 72 course, Dad, laughed and said, “Well you sure got your money’s worth on this old course today.” He shot his normal 80’s. The golf came on quick 3 or 4 rounds a week was the norm. We hacked our way to the closest we had ever been. Memories were written in stone, laughter was medicine, lessons were abundant.

In the coming months, Dad being my 24th hospice patient, the best medicine was golf. Getting out those 3-4 times a week, for fresh air, his love of the game and the joy we shared out there on the peaceful course. Dad become more critical on my game, giving me corrections with each swing I took, talking like Greg Normon had written him a playbook, and he was the instructor. I went from shooting in the mid 100’s to the 80’s today. My Dad taught me early in life, patience, courage, and the ability to read situations on the golf course, which spilled over into the rest of my life. From my very first round at 12, to, the many rounds we played in 3 months at the end of his life, the lessons that he has left me with on the golf course, deeply impact the decisions I make in my life. When we were not on the golf course, we were at home watching the Golf Channel, 24 hours a day!

On February 19, 2008, Dad and I played a newer course for us, which was an hour or so from the house. We had a great day, Dad shot a great round of 89 and I shot a round 92. The weather was cool that day, the familiar scent of the damp grass comforted us, the cool hands of the winds whipped at our faces as we rode around the course that day. A picture of my Dad staring off into the expansive fairway on number 13 tee, reminds me of this round. It would be the last round that my Dad would play. We headed towards home with plans for tomorrow, a new course, and a new day. Halfway home, Dad had his first of many damaging seizures in the car. I got him home, took off his beloved golf sweater, turned on the golf channel to comfort him. Two days of Golf Channel, and Dad’s passing moments went by. On February 21, 2008 after listening to a great tournament on the TV, my Dad went to the big golf course in the sky.

Now, in the months that have passed, I refer to my Dad, as my personal sky caddy. With every ball I hit, every address I make, I hear my Dad’s critiques, and adjustments, that he loving gave all my life. I feel closest to my Dad on the golf course, I still play 3-4 times a week. I remember all the great times we shared over this great game called Golf. The love my Dad had for this game, the passion he had, the drive that propelled him, even through is sickest times, walking the course day after day. Till the end he taught me lessons through golf. He taught me, how to brighten your outlook when faced with doom. He taught me that life, like each swing of the club, is controlled by me, and with little corrections can turn out smelling like a rose. His greatest lesson was that of strength, his strength and will, taught me to play the best game I can ever play, day after day. As I walk the course, smell the fresh cut grass, look off the first tee, down the expansive fairway to the green, I see my Dad tending the stick, just in case I hit that one great shot that will save the day.