It's a family affair...

I was downstairs in the basement watching golf on TV the other day and decided that those pros don't have anything on me. Every time Phil would sink a putt I would say: "Big deal. That's just the way I do it." Tiger and a few others (well, maybe more than a few -- OK, probably everyone out there, even the caddies) may be able to outdrive me, but I can visualize my shots with the best of them.

That inspired me to get the putters out and practice the part that you do for dough. It's kind of neat 'cause I have a little ball returner that shoots the ball back to me when I make them. I turned the volume off on the returner because all that simulated crowd applause got embarrassing after a while. Of course, if I didn't make it, my dog, Bailey, would fetch for me ... eventually. 'Course it's kinda hard to putt slobbery golf balls.

Then I remembered the times when Pam and I would drive to Paulding to visit mom and dad. It seems we made more trips during the winter because they couldn't get out much. The cold was hard on his knees but he liked to practice putting on the little carpet fairway he had in the TV room. He got to where he had to fix a suction cup device on the end of the putter shaft so he could retrieve his ball from the cup. He always said he would practice a bit so he could whip our butts when spring came.

My brother (Walt, left) and brother-in-law (Luke, to the left of Walt) and I tried to get together with him because he so looked forward to those times. Dad and I used to hunt and fish together (his nickname was Catfish Joe), and he taught me how to play golf when I was about 13. I really didn't improve much past being a bogey golfer, but that's all the more seriously I wanted to take it. But playing with him was so much fun. We could have written a book with new and novel excuses for giving strokes, or not counting his putts. Did you know that if the grass on the green we were playing was a different shade of green from the last hole, the senior player in that foursome got 2 strokes off on that hole -- three if it was the beer hole. Something about older eyes having trouble adjusting to the line of putts and unfair advantages to the younger players. Hmmmmmmmm.

We didn't get to play together as often as he would have liked, or as often as we should have. Walt, Luke and I were all too busy with our jobs and our own families and things. That's kinda the way it is with fathers and sons. Now we wish we had had more opportunities to hit some with him. I think that's why I retired when I did, and why I like to hit 'em with Walt and Luke, and with Chuck, Kevin and Jed whenever I can. You just don't know when you'll get the opportunity to walk that path again. I know I miss him and our outings.

“What a father says to his children is not heard by the world, but it will be heard by posterity.” (Jean Paul Richter)

Hooah