Joey and I

MortyAngel on Skye Scooter

MortyAngel on Skye Scooter

The hell with it. My back can crumble and crack. I wasn’t going to let a day like today be spoiled by bulging disks. Early this summer, my grandson told me he was learning to play golf. I thought that was amazing because I didn’t even know what golf was when I was eleven. I told him that after he had a few lessons, and had hit a few balls, I would take him to play a round of golf.

Yesterday, he called me and asked when we were going to play.  “Tomorrow,”  I replied.

“What time?”

“I will pick you up at eight a.m.”

The opportunity clock rang this morning, and I rolled out of bed. My back was very sore. “Mind over matter,”  I told myself. I dressed, ate breakfast, and was off to pick him up.

It’s been over ten years since I last played. Barbara and I played at Frankfort Square Links, formerly Hickory Creek, a small course just a few miles from the house. It is a nine hole course, that is very short. It was the perfect place to play our first round of golf together.

When Joey and I arrived, it was cloudy and cool. I rented clubs for myself.  Joey has his own. I paid for a cart to help preserve my back, and to have a way to get back to the car in case my back collapsed.  Peggy, the clubhouse attendent took the greens fees, and we were off to the first tee.

I watched as Joey teed up, and knocked the ball a hundred and fifty yards straight down the middle of the fairway. Oh boy, I’m in for a long day I thought. I teed off and did the same thing. Surprise, surprise. Maybe the back brace I wore made me relax, or maybe the fear of the ice pick in the back kept me from swinging too aggressively, but it felt good.  I hit the ball far and straight. He was just to the left of center, and I was on the right.

The course is short, but very tough. It is loaded with water hazards. Hit the ball slightly off the green and splash. Nevertheless, we had a beautiful time together. I used some of the time to teach course etiquette. An eleven year old just isn’t into stodgy stuff like keeping a foot out of the path of a ball rolling toward  the cup. A couple of times, I restrained myself from braining him. After all, he is my grandson. My daughter would kill me if I brought him home with a club wrapped around his neck.

At the end of nine holes his score was eleven strokes lower than mine. We walked to the car, and it started drizzling.

We had lunch at Culver’s in Frankfort, then picked up dessert at the Creamery on the way home.

How does that commercial go?

Club rental–$6.00

Green fees–$16.00

Bonding with my grandson–Priceless