Golfing Balls

Your dad is terrible at golf. That’s the first thing that should be said before we get going on this one.

Today was a busy day for all of us. Emerson Kate was up by 5:20 AM and our day was off to a start. After some apple sticks, milk and dry cinnamon cereal, it was time for school and work. Not before you refused to brush your teeth, refused to put your school clothes on, and refused to sit still.

Like normal, you were the first one to arrive to school. They open at 7 AM and you were clocked in by 7:04 AM. Not uncommon for us to get there before 7 AM and let you nap in the car, actually. But today I literally had to walk the halls to find a teacher to watch you in your classroom because we were so early.

After a long day of travel and work for your parents, we called it early. It was time for the old people / young parents dinner which starts around 5:15 PM and ends by the second tantrum. We opted for Lakewood Smokehouse right down the street. All I’ll say is that the 6 cheese macaroni and cheese must have been awesome because you were eating it like there was no tomorrow. With a big girl fork, even.

I had the smoked turkey, bacon and cilantro pizza. And curse-words it was good. Coupled with two beers and it was time to hit Tenison Park for a driving range experience.

This outing was your first golf outing. Nothing special at all really. Just a bunch of white, dimpled balls and some sticks with men guzzling beer and swearing through their cigar smoke. A real gentlemen’s game.

Your dad was out there to test his shoulder that is coming on 11 months after surgical repair. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Maybe a familiar pop followed by a trip to the hospital? Maybe that slight catch in the joint that gives me pause before my next move? Maybe just some tightness as I stretch the repaired ligaments further than they’ve been in a year?

Luckily, it was a strong shoulder today. Tomorrow, we’ll see. But this post isn’t about dad’s golf game. Though you might argue that’s about all it’s been about so far. This post is supposed to be about you, Emerson. You and your first golf outing.

But this wasn’t your first golfball experience. Last Sunday, when we were out on our Sunday open house sabbatical, we found a bright yellow practice ball from Lakewood Country Club. You promptly tried to toss the golfball into oncoming traffic on Gaston Ave. But this adventure was the first true golf course you’ve visited.

Your mom held you through the first dozen balls or so. She put your feet on the ground during the next dozen. Once you understood what was going on, you gravitated towards the green waffle baskets that hold the golfballs, and then your dad made a fatal flaw. He let you hold the gap wedge. I’m not sure if it was that “tuning fork in your loins” that Tin Cup refers to (don’t look that up until you’re at least 16), or just the squishy rubbery grip dad had put on there several years back, but you didn’t want to let go.

Once I wrestled it away from your little hand, you took on the attitude of a golfer who missed an easy three-foot putt. You lost it.

So as Mom walked you around the outside of the gate, Dad frantically hit as many golfballs as possible. The P, G, 52 degree, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, hybrid 3, driver and even a quick putter swing. I went as fast as possible before you returned. And when you did, as she always does, your Mom had you happy again.

You went straight back to the green waffle buckets and carried them by the slightly-darker green handle settling in the crease of your arm, like a proper lady. You took my driver cover, which is Bert from Sesame Street, and deposited him into your bucket along with three golfballs and an old plastic Easter egg. Emerson Kate was having a ball. Pardon the pun. But you are the cutest thing ever when you do things like that.

Just don’t ever ask me if you can go be a cart girl. The answer is no.

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