Chapter 5: The Golf Lesson

Hope everyone had a fabulous Thanksgiving! True to my blog post about Black Friday Shopping, Thursday I paid $5.35 for the Washington Post and organized the crap out of my ads and lists. My mom came to our house for a few days, so Friday we decided to hit up some stores, but not until lunch time, because >>>> CROWDS. I got most of my shopping done online before Thanksgiving, but it’s still fun to follow the traditions and window shop. Monday was back to the grind of homework and chores but I couldn’t let you guys wait any longer for a new blog!

So, for as long as I can remember, my dad and brother have been golfers. I have no clue when the obsession started, but I know that it’s been since at least the early 90’s. I never really had an interest. As a teenager, if I had my choice between trying to smack a tiny ball with a stick as far as I could or making out with boys at the movies hanging out with my friends, I’d choose the later every time. Sure, some girls were into golf and that’s awesome. But it just wasn’t my thing. So at 17 when my family said “hey let’s go to the driving range and practice” I wasn’t super excited… but I went. I have NO idea why that time was different or why I decided to go. I vaguely remember Nick wanting to go to Glendale because that is where his High School would practice, and now that I think about it- that was probably the reason we went. So he could practice. But, I thought, what the hell, I’ll give this a try. So, armed with some sort of ‘iron’ I gave the ball a whack. Or, so I thought. Mostly I just hit dirt. This continued for a few minutes before my dad finally yelled “oh Jesus, move, let me show you how it’s done.”

Now, I should probably tell you, that at this time, my dad had just had surgery. Technology wasn’t all advanced yet, so his surgery to have some skin cancer removed on his back was pretty invasive and required a huge incision. He legit had part of his back stapled back together at this point and was still recovering. So, naturally, I thought that this was a terrible idea, but figured hey-you do you dude- GO FOR IT.

So, dad got up there on the driving range area thingy, to “show me how it’s done”… and all he showed me was what NOT to do. This man took a HUGE swing at that ball, and when his club got about 5 millimeters away, the force just came to a halt and he tapped that ball so soft it rolled about a foot forward.

I DIED Y’ALL. Like, full on tears running down my face, hysterical laughing. One of those laughs that no matter how hard you try to calm down, every time you give someone that knowing look, it just starts all over. These laughs are typically reserved for my hilarious family and my college roommate {and forever bestie}, Therese. My mom was laughing. Nick was laughing. The guys next to us that we didn’t know were laughing. Mr. “let me show you the right way to hit a golf ball” sure did show me.

Apparently, so we later found out, he was trying to be all cocky and fatherly, but realized about mid-swing that his shit would be REAL weak if he popped his stitches trying to swing a golf club. He knew that Dr. Mom would be peeved and that he’d never hear the end of it. And, I mean, rightfully so! What sort of wife wouldn’t be annoyed at their husband if he was told to take it easy and rest and he tries to golf? It’s totally understandable but without that inner monologue being known, all the naked eye saw was that man “showing us how to golf.”

We still laugh about this any chance we get. The memory of it, the mental image of my dad as he realized the error of his ways, the little 1 foot putt of the golf ball… hell, the image of the guys next to us trying to stifle their laughter and looks of sympathy for my dad… Maybe one day I will learn how to golf, but for now I will just continue to let my dad show me how it’s done.

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