After a day of relaxing, lots of sun and hanging out at the park yesterday, today my dad and I headed over to a local driving range to hit some golf balls.
Here’s the thing: I took golf lesson when I was 10 years old. I don’t recall liking it very much. Nor being any good at it. (“You’ll need it for business,” dad said. “I’m 10,” I said. And once I finally entered the business world, I added, “you should have sent me to a bar if you wanted me to learn something beneficial for business.” But I digress.)
In the last several years, my dad has decided that I still need to be a golfer. He bought me clubs a few years ago (which are still untouched in the closet at my apartment), and asks if I’ve taken lessons yet at least once a month. So when we decided to head to Florida for a few days, he decided there would be some golf involved during our trip.
Today was that day. I’m going to be honest: it started out pretty rough. Clearly anything I’d learned in golf lessons (short of correct grip…and even only some components of that) has disappeared in the 22 years since my childhood lessons. Bless my dad for his patience in trying to show me correct form (probably why he offered to pay for me to take lessons once I get back home…). And thank goodness nobody got hurt. But as the time went on, I definitely did start to get a little better.
A certain someone I may have mentioned a few times (those of you who recall this … we are getting back to a good place with one another again) has told me that, given my background, athleticism and sheer determination to be good at everything, is probably be pretty good at it. As my dad said many times today, it’s all about body alignment and repetition. So maybe, after seeing the distinctive difference between the first bucket of balls and the third, the two of them are right. Guess we’ll have to see.
And guess I’ll have to schedule those lessons. Otherwise I may never get to wear that pink golf glove my dad insisted I buy on our way back from the driving range…