May 21, 2011 - Fighting Your Handicap

It is one of the days that has been etched in my memory for nearly 50 years. It was a summer day like all of the rest in Ohio, hot and sticky. It was a day that I was playing with Tim and Mike Markus , the only neighbors that I ever spent time with. We had decided to hit a golf ball around their back yard. We each had a decent size yard, but we could never tie them together as they had a chain link fence designed to keep their long gone dog penned in. So we were in their yard hitting the one golf ball we shared. I was a year older than Mike and two older than Tim. Although never a superstar, I was bigger and more athletically inclined.

That size, however, caught up with me as I sliced a ball toward the Markus’ house. My eyes got bigger than a golf ball as I saw it hit the house and glance off. I thought I was safe but when we walked over to where it hit, it was easy to see that it hit in the middle of the kitchen window and Mrs. Markus was standing there looking out at us. No one made a big deal of it, but I felt like I had broken somebody’s arm. I was devastated and swore off golf. I probably should have stopped there.

However, time passed and another summer rolled around. Being that I was too young to really go too far away from the house (I wasn’t allowed to get a bicycle until I was in the eighth grade, but that’s another story), I had to find things to do around the house during the long summer. As a result, golf was rejuvenated. This time I stayed in my own yard and hit away from the house. I got some tin cans and buried them in the ground and made my own golf course. I would play for hours despite the fact that putting on two inch high grass was tough.

I finally talked my dad into taking me golfing. That is another day that is etched in my memory as we lasted two holes and about 25 shots apiece. We decided that golf wasn’t our game and headed home. It wasn’t until I was 15 that I started golfing again with two of my friends from high school, Mark Kroger and Mike Meixner. We weren’t very good, but we had some great laughs at each other’s expense. We would get a ride from a parent and then rent a hand cart and play 18 holes and then get picked up by another parent. It would take us all day and not drain our piggy banks.

The third day that is blasted in my memory was one of the days that we played 36 holes. Apparently, Mark had not told his parents that we were playing 36 holes and they somehow tracked him down on the course and left without Mike and me. Not to be undone, we continued to play. When we finally got back to the clubhouse and called home from the pay phone, we found that there would be no ride home, we would have to walk. We had just walked 36 holes and would have to walk home carrying our bags. For me, that walk would be three miles. It is amazing what a 15 year old body can do.

The fourth day that I will never forget was years later and is the day I shot a 77 on a par 72 course. I was on fire that day and could not miss a putt. You have to understand that I probably only had a handful of rounds that I have shot in the 80’s and high 80’s at that. Not sure what happened that day, but I can remember almost every shot. I still have that scorecard somewhere in my collectibles.

The fifth and last day that is etched in my brain just happened a couple of weeks ago when Justin and I went out for the first time. All four of us have played together before in a league when the boys were young, but this was different. It was the first time since Justin decided to give up baseball that he utilized his athletic abilities. We had been hitting at the driving range for a few weeks, but this was the first time he would stand and the first tee and know that what he did mattered. Despite a bit of nerves, he was able to get the ball into the fairway and we were on our way.

Not sure what it is or why it is, but there is something special playing golf with your son(s). Hopefully, I will be able to get Jason out, but that might be a while or at least until he, too, gives up baseball. That Sunday was special. We didn’t set any records, but we did have fun. There is something about the game that brings people together that are playing. It is a game that has more frustration than any other. You can be playing a great round and one hole can ruin the day. There is no maximum on a hole, there is a reason that the game can make you cry.

It was a couple months ago that I decided to get back into golf. It had been about a decade since I had really played much and the first time out I lost one of my clubs. I took that as a sign from God to buy a new set. Understand that I have only owned three sets of golf clubs in my life. I have friends (Jim Sibert, you know I am talking about you) that can have that many in five years as they look for that elusive smaller handicap. It was my way of rewarding myself for lasting this long with my new handicap, Multiple Myeloma. It was also a way to push back at the disease that I wasn’t giving up and was going to live life like nothing was wrong with me.

There is just something about the game that despite driving you nuts, just keeps calling you back. Now I get to do it with my son. Life can’t get any better!