Golf

I LOVE being at home for the summer. It means I can do things like take Parker and his next-door friend to the golf clinic at the country club on Monday mornings. This week was their first time. They were excited enough to set their own alarm, get themselves up and dressed, and make sure their clubs were at the front door, waiting. When Nate rang the doorbell and I ushered him in, I could smell the trail of cologne and his hair was slicked down. A dapper guy with a glint in his eye. Parker came up the stairs with his clubs and the two immediately started inspecting the dirt in the cracks of the putter, and comparing clubs. Parker had swiped two from his dad's bag and slid the biggest driver into his bag, saying with that swagger guys get, "When you can't swing very hard...that's when you let the big dog hunt." A Yancey-ism if I ever heard one. Nate looked impressed. Then he looked at me and said, "My mom made me bring PRETZELS in my bag!" His face was indignant. "I told her...MOM, professional golfers do NOT have PRETZELS in their bag!"

We loaded up and headed out. When we got there, the lot was filled with kids of all ages and golf bags of all sizes. Parker said, "I'm nervous." I registered the boys, while they hung back at the edge of the crowd. But soon, they spotted a couple of other guys they knew and they were off.

I left two nervous boys...I picked up two confident golfers. They strode to the car, swinging their clubs into the trunk with little effort, talking about how great they had done that day. (And...I found out there was a GIRL in their group! I'm sure that made them play all the better!) When we got home, the boys graciously posed for me.

Then they spent another hour walking around my yard, hitting golf balls around. I didn't mind...because at least they weren't shooting bottle rockets into the siding (yes...there is a story there!). We may get some gentleman golfers yet.