Golfing with Dad

So today my post is going to be unique.  Unique because it's personal, and unique because it's also something I want to write for a specific audience, which is the Golf audience.

There is a problem with this.

I am not a golfer.

I rarely hit the ball straight, and worse rarely far.  My golf swing may not be as bad as Barkley's, but it's certainly no where near an amateur golfer level.

I can offer very few actual golf stories, because in total I have probably only played a full 18 holes no more than 4 times. 

I could play other sports mind you.  I think to myself " Basketball, football, baseball, but golf??  Eh...I'm too competitive and self critical at this junkture of my life for that.  Maybe someday I could do it, but in all likelihood I'd rather be doing something else.

There is one exception though that I have found recently.

Golfing with my Father.


It is amongst one of the most calming and easiest things to do that I've ever found in my life. 

I work with people, I have friends, I have loved ones, siblings, but in none of their cases, and perhaps someday that will change, but I would trade none of them to golf with than my father.

The reasons are difficult to explain, but I am willing to try.

Here is this man that has raised me, been there for me when I was low, when I was on top of the world, and everywhere inbetween.  He was my primary role model.

My role model is now 61.  I am 27.  I have completed my education to the point of aquiring a degree from a relatively prestigious University.  What more is he going to teach me on that course?

Things that can't be taught.

Patience.  In the form of hitting a bad shot and persevering.  It's OK to fail.  Failing at something doesn't mean you will fail at the next.  If you hit one shot in the trees it's OK.  If you miss the ball on a swing, it's forgiveable.

For right around the corner just might be a shot that feels so right, that drops so perfectly from the Sky you believe there might just be a God that grabbed your ball out of the air and put it down exactly where you needed it to be dropped.

Endurance.  In the form of continuing a course even if you feel battered and bruised.  Your ego not what it once was.  Perhaps your body is not what it once was.  But you battle on.  You will complete the course.  It is an important lesson.  One to finish what you started.

Because at the end of the day, even if you had place balls into the lake, broken a club, had more than 20 golf cart rides to other holes because you had a slice so bad that drunk college kids would look at you funny.  There is that on the last hole you just may put it all together.

That in the End, your drive is straight and true, and far.  That in one more you land on the green.  That you place your ball roughly 7 feet from the pin.  You have at this moment, dragged yourself up from the bottomless abyss you had been playing in, and are on the verge of your first Birdie.

A slight curve, a slight hill, but it's not drastic.  The anxiety, the rush comes back, the fire, the dread, the anticipation.

 But then you look up, you see your Father.  And you see him smiling at you. You see him, smiling without any concern, with no worries, with a spirit and appetite for life that you could only still hope to exude. 

And then utter peace and calmness returns.  And your swing is nice and easy and under control.  You putt with the knowledge that no matter if this putt goes in or not, you have won.

And that's when I learned about happiness.

In the wake of horrible men, doing horrible things.  I would like to thank my Father for Never, Ever, EVER doing anything but be the most supportive and thoughtful man I've known.  I would like to thank him for allowing me to find a peace of mind, on my own, and through my own methods.

I would like to thank the sport of golf to make it so I can exchange all of those feelings, all of those emotions out without even saying a word...until now obviously.

Love You Dad

Ben