I don’t golf. Years ago, my dad (who had a scratch handicap at the time) dragged me out to the driving range and taught me how to swing a club and, despite my best efforts to suck at it, I could smoke the ball pretty darn far for an amateur (about 165 yards – I’m not kidding). In fact, swinging a golf club came so easily and effortlessly to me that I’m sure daddy must have been filled with dreams of big money and a daughter on the LPGA tour. The fantasy didn’t last long, if he ever had it, because the moment I stepped out on a golf course for the first time, all of my natural talent and ease with a club went straight out the window. Okay, that’s “putting” it lightly – no pun intended.
The first hole started off just fine, with a nice 155 yard drive right down the middle of the fairway. Then I used a 7 iron to hit the ball nicely onto the edge of the green. And then the putting started. Ten strokes later and I finally sunk the #$%^ ball into the tiny little hole on the far side of the green and my dad practically burst into tears. Putting was, to say the least, not my strong suit. Despite his repeated efforts to help me improve upon my putting skills, it just wasn’t happening and, eventually, I was honest enough with myself to admit that I had no concept of depth perception, nor could I gage distances or read the wind. Basically, it was the driving range for me or nothing at all and all daddy’s dreams of an LPGA daughter passed right by the flag.
Last December, dad turned 60 and my brother Michael gave him a dream gift – tickets for dad and him to the 2009 Masters in Augusta, GA. Two days of kicking around, golfing it up, and then Saturday and Sunday watching the competitors and following around their favorites. They left this morning and dad’s probably pinching himself right now, just to make sure he’s really there. Either that or he and Mike are sharing a bottle of wine and waxing poetic about their greatest golf games.
No doubt, they are both laughing about the time I caddied for dad when he won the Sunshine Open in 1991. I was waiting for him to putt on the third hole and I looked down and noticed a quarter lying there, so I picked it up. I’d never caddied before and I had no idea that people used quarters as ball markers. When everyone started looking around for another player’s ball marker, I enthusiastically joined in the search, not realizing until later that day that I had actually picked it up and caused the guy an extra stroke. By the time I realized what I’d done, I was too embarrassed to say anything to anyone and it wasn’t until a few months later that I confessed to dad about what had happened. I thought he was going to be so angry, but he ended up laughing until he cried. Crazy dad!
Here’s the newspaper clipping of dad’s big win. He sure is an awesome golfer and an awesome dad too.
Today, while I was working really hard on my year end stuff for my bookkeeper, my thoughts were filled with my brother and my dad, two of the best men I know and so very much alike. Both are handsome, funny, sarcastic and fun-loving men who are also strong businessmen and good mentors for a newbie like me. I can always count on both of them to offer up good advice (regardless of whether I decide to take it) and I believe they make my world a much better place. I hope they are having a fabulous father/son bonding experience and I can’t wait to hear all of dad’s stories when he returns from the tournament.
Tomorrow, I’ll be blogging about the boudoir/anytime photo shoot I did last Sunday with my friend Carrie. She was my gorgeous neighbour growing up and I spent years following her around and wanting to be just like her when I grew up. She was the best babysitter ever, from what she tells me! Apparently, my mom used to pay extra for each dish she washed. My mom rocked.
Here’s a sneak peak of Carrie’s shoot. This girl is 110% gorgeous – inside and out. We did a whole lot of laughing on Sunday. Just thinking about it makes me smile.