GOLF 1/23/07

My dad was a pretty good golfer I guess. I don't think he was a member of a country club and I don't know who he played with. I just know he did.

As a kid, I liked to play "Putt-Putt" at the miniature golf course by the same name in Lavallette N.J. during the two weeks I spent there most summers with my mother, step-father, and later on a half-sister. My dad also took me to play miniature golf. Once, he took me to the real golf course. We walked it, we must have. I remember the green grass and seriousness that every golfer had when aiming.

Dad introduced me to range practice too. We'd each have our own bucket. That I liked much more than waiting for a bunch of people to tee off on the big course. I outgrew any serious enjoyment of mini-golf. Nowadays, I am more interested in the tadpoles and frogs in the fake ponds than I am in aiming for the flag. The buckets though-- I still love them.

Assigning each ball a name of whoever I am angry at and then whaling on it as far as I can! Great fun that is. Surely even the Summerlands cannot be any finer.

sapphoq on life