Dearest Mason –
What’s up dude? I thought I’d write a quick note to you, my 15-year-old nephew, after my high school golf game a few days ago. Exciting things for a student to play with as an adult varsity reserve. Thanks for being ok with Allow me to watch you. Your mother (my sister) told me not to embarrass you, and I tried not to. I didn’t say anything when that woman ran away from her house, did I? I’ll get to that in a sec.
But it was a fun afternoon. So I wanted to remember her. Maybe this will rise above your head on your wedding day someday. But this will be more than just a souvenir. I think I mentioned that I, your unsportsmanlike, unsportsmanlike, long-era uncle, also played high school golf. And your tour made me think again. To Todd, Tim, Jason, Steve, Gavin, Paul and Alfredo. beavers. to Mountain Dew. You probably have three more years of this, so I thought I’d also give you a sneak peek at what lies ahead.
The thing is, though, your tour and day wasn’t much different from mine.
Papa’s bet winner
You haven’t seen this. But I told you about it then, and you loved it, mainly because Uncle Nick was being corrected. Anyway, when you were on the first green, you noticed that you were rolling putts instead of making a clean putt. So, a few gaps ahead of you, I whispered to you to be careful. But my father saw me talking. And we talked. The conversation started friendly. I introduced myself. I asked him who was there. And I got this:
“You can’t talk to children. They will exclude him.”
Oh.
But I’m starting to remember my father and yours. He has only played two rounds of golf in his entire life. The first was also my first, and we may or may not be able to drive a cart to the first green, but that’s a story for another day.
The second round came during the year-end, father-son, nine-hole tournament. To set up this story, all you have to understand is that Papa, though not a golfer, was very much a gambler. And we were paired up with a friend and his dad—who was a member of the country club that once hosted a touring event. We played eight holes. They hit us with eight holes. But Baba thought of the ninth:
“The loser buys drinks.”
They were in. Of course they were. Then, I’m not kidding, Daddy smoked a car. Two hundred and seventy-five yards. Which was probably two hundred and seventy-four more than what hit him all day. He’s getting better. Throwing our approach into a green-side bunker, and with no other father and son in sight, Papa went over to the wedge-side. You knew that was coming. He’s getting better. But I hit my sand with a closer shot. And Ababa make the non-existence presented. And they were deceived in some way.
And the guy playing his second round of golf got a beer.
That lady was mad
I don’t think you’ve seen this either, but I rode a buggy with one of your coaches on the half hole. nice man. He said he used to coach gymnastics. You told me then that he once did a back-blade for you guys. Science instructors. After he knocked us down a hole (or worse), his wise words to us were: “Just birdie on the next couple.” Gotcha, boss!
Anyway, your coach and I have been talking about the honor system, unlike most other high school sports. There are no referees. And at some point, this frustrated you. You could have sworn at one of the players in your group making seven – only for him to say five. In the end, you split it down the middle. six. It looks fair-ish.
But this is nothing in the last hole. One of your playmates left her. It was off limits. The stakes said so. It was also in the backyard. And the sign that read, “Don’t hit from the yard,” said that. But he looked around. You only saw me. I thought I wouldn’t write about it after a week on a golf site. And he tackled him with the ball. At this point a woman came out yelling in some English which we can’t post here.
So I started thinking of some relaxation rules. In my junior year, a group of seniors I was playing against said I could practice Winter Rules, as long as they could. (Whispers: I had it. But I said 10 Hail Jack Nicklauses for penance.) My sophomore year, during tryouts, trying to make the team, two of my partners filled out their scorecards—into the first tee box. One of them managed to make the team – and his average somehow jumped 17 hits per week.
But he got free golf.
“Can my friend take a ride?”
defy. You asked me this, and you drove your friend home. Anyway, here is where the memories flood back in.
I remembered my travels. Buses take us to and from the courses. A big yellow one, just for the 10 of us. Two stories here. First, the high scorer had to purchase two 24-packs of Mountain Dew for the next match. She may not have been healthy, but she was living right.
Then there are beavers on the bus. Well, this is surprising. That was not good. You shouldn’t do that. But at one point in the year, the team’s freshmen were shocked by a move in which the giver takes the base of his palm and repeatedly thrusts it into the back of the receiver’s head. it burned. I got one. The coach drove the bus. I lived. Everyone laughed.
I also thought about my matches. Beating up the big private school. How then my friend and I wandered screaming up and down one of the city’s busiest streets. As far as we know, we have always lost to them. But there was more. This team was a bunch of breeches. (I’ll use dirty language when you’re older, I promise.) Even so, the day we won, my opponent gave me one of the best sentences I’ve ever heard on the golf course: “You play baseball, you, no?” It took me a second, because I did. Of course, here, I was trying to swing a golf club, and he was, in fact, fooling me. So yeah, it was a good win.
I thought about prom. That day, we drove 2 hours to a match, played, came back, got dressed, took pictures with our dates, went to prom, danced awkwardly, went after prom and stayed up for 26 straight hours. (If Nicole is reading this, I’m sorry I’ve been on such a bad date.) I also thought about hitting golf balls in the lake behind the clubhouse where we played our home games. I thought of Todd, Tim, Jason, Steve, Gavin, Paul and Alfredo. They were some of my teammates. Most of us are connected. I’m going on a golf trip this summer with Todd. Paul is a college basketball reference. Wild.
And then we dropped your friend. And your mom made us burgers and hot dogs for dinner.
Well Well. So there is a bigger point here. Lesson. Takeaway. And it’s easy, like a hammock, my friend.
You will never forget these days.
You can even write about them.
love,
nick