This entry is a bit late since I have not blogged for over a week. I am so sorry my failure to blog has so disappointed the hordes of readers hanging on every word that appears on this exclusive blog.
It's been a couple of weeks since I found myself in the company of a motley crew of weekend golfers on the Mountain Course of Rancho Moreno Valley Golf Club. It was a day like many others before. Many prior days such as this Sunday morning began with a similar sense of anticipation only to end in a condition of angst that golfers alone are familiar with. Golf is a lot like a flirtatious and wicked woman (not that I am personally acquainted with such a member of the fairer gender). Golf draws you in with the promise of enjoyment and ecstasy. Once you are lured into the mirage of lush green gardens and velvety carpets of putting greens her deception becomes clear. It may not happen on the first or second hole; it may not happen during the "front nine." But it will happen. The game will humiliate you and cause you to wonder why you ever believed her lie! The public spectacle of a man self-destructing is comical and uncomfortable at the same time. You want to turn away out of respect for the victim, but you can't help watch, just in case spontaneous combustion consumes the ill-fated sap who thought he would be the one to survive unscathed.
I am no exception. My sons and their less-than-credible witnesses, Andrew and Joseph, find particular enjoyment in sharing the legends of alleged incidents that may resemble the previous paragraph. There are colorful stories, each told with more embellishment each time they are repeated, about flying clubs, deadly golf balls flying as purposeful projectiles aimed at unsuspecting playing partners, and even times when a frustrated participant in this infernal game (who resembles me) has stormed off the 18th green in a heightened state of disgust sufficient to allegedly cause them to fear for their personal safety. The truth is that there have been occasional moments sprinkled generously across the tapestry of my golfing moments when I have misplaced my sense of personal enjoyment and thus provided the fertile ground in which these convoluted narratives have flourished. That would change on this day-- and I will never be the same.
I was having a typical day on the golf course-- an occasional par (a pleasant experience) negated by the abundant bogies (not a good thing) and double-bogies (worse than the previous), not to mention the undesirable triple-bogey and worse (you can imagine the feelings associate with those scores). Two foursomes were playing back to back, one following the other along the course. The second group consisted of Joe, Michael, and Lenny. My group consisted of Ruben, Jr. (my son), Robert (my son), Ruben, III (my grandson), and me (of course). The littlest Ruben had his own miniature golf bag with a pigmy-sized set of clubs to use on certain occasions that afforded him the opportunity to swing mightily or putt carefully. You would think I would be having the time of my life, but in truth, the day was not going very well for me. I was trying to control myself since I was in the presence of my grandchild. The superhuman effort it was taking to control the personal disgust at my level of play was beginning to eat through the lining of my intestinal walls. Then came Lenny.
It was about the 15th hole, which is only relevant since the lion's share of the round was almost over. Lenny came over in his own indomitable fashion and cozied himself next to me as my sons were standing on the tee box ready to drive the ball. My ball had already sailed far into the distance but nowhere near the intended fairway. He had a smile that seemed almost comical as it stretched his face outward as if begin tugged from behind. "What's he smiling about?" I thought to myself, in a moment of self-pity. "You must be having the time of your life, huh?” He asked. I wanted to punch him just for asking the question. "It must be awesome." he continued. "Leave me alone." I uttered under my breath, "Yeah." I responded out loud without a hint of conviction. "To be able to be out here playing with your sons and your grandson," he went on without noticing my disdain. "That has got to be awesome!" He smiled and went along his merry way back to his group, where I believe he was trailing badly. I was left ponder his words.
I am a different man since that very moment. I looked at my boys who do everything they can to annoy me on the golf course-- it's a sport to them. I am the proudest father in the world. I would terribly miss their pestering. I looked at my grandson who was making monkey sounds and hanging from the handles on the side of the golf cart. How blessed am I? How many other dads would not give every last possession for a moment to enjoy with their estranged sons? Yet here they were. They are not estranged. They invited me to play a round of golf with them!
Then there was my grandson-- a small package of energy and curiosity that can try a saint. But there he was providing me opportunities to laugh and make mental memories others will never have the opportunity to see or enjoy with their grandchildren. "What's wrong with me?" I screamed internally. I took inventory and everything changed on that tee box.
I have had bad drives and bad chips since then-- but in the big scheme of things, who cares? I am with my boys! I am enjoying the sunshine and the company of those I love most. Life is too short and moments of sheer joy too rare to waste them away because of negativity-- regardless of whether the cause of it is internal or external. Every day is a gift. Every moment is a treasure. Every second is a joy.
Thank you, Lenny!
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