Golf Score

Golf Score 1982

Age: Eight

I was not happy when my dad all but forced me to start playing golf. I was in the third grade and pissed off. Why do I have to golf? It sure sounds like fun to hit a small ball with a skinny stick. I played softball, now that was a game, but golf, yuck.

I truly dreaded every Wednesday morning of that upcoming summer. The only good fortune I had was that my buddy Dig was also being forced to play.

My mom drew the short straw and was elected to drive us to our first round of golf. We actually managed to whine for the entire car ride, so much that my mom seemed overjoyed to finally get rid of us. “Pick you up in two hours,” was all she said as she squealed away.

We grabbed our clubs and headed for the clubhouse which was a small, run-down building with green Astroturf on the floor. They were obviously trying to replicate a golf-green except this floor was loaded with dirt and soda stains and was curling up in the corners.

“How ya doin?” asked a chipper, gray haired man my grandfather’s age. “Are you two in the league?”

“Yes,” We said shyly with a twist of cranky.

“We’re all meeting out back for the orientation, come on!”

We followed him through the clubhouse to the back door, both tripping on the curled turf as we exited the building.

The only two seats left open were next to the gray haired man, so we plopped down and waited for him to start. Why were we here? Why did our parents push us to play golf? What a stupid sport. As these thoughts were circling in my head, I started scoping out the competition. I was, after all, still a competitive person even if I didn’t want to be there.

Then I noticed it. What was going on here? What the heck? Why didn’t anybody tell me? As I took in my surroundings, I realized that I was the only girl in the bunch! It was a bunch of dirty old boys and me! It didn’t bother me to play with boys, but I was not interested in being the only girl.

Then the gray haired man began the orientation and I didn’t hear a word of it. The only girl! I would get eaten alive! I was not worried about my athletic skills, but being outnumbered like this just didn’t seem fair.

Then Dig elbowed me and said, “Hey, you’re the only girl here.”

“I know,” I whispered slightly annoyed.

Then the gray haired man gestured my way, smiling ear to ear, and welcomed the very first girl to the golf league. With big eyes and a red face, I half smiled and sunk down in my seat. The gray haired man continued to smile like a proud grandfather and then without skipping a beat he said, “Now get going!”

We headed off to the first tee box and got in line. I was starting to get nervous and all I could think about was: I don’t know how to play golf. What if I can’t connect with the ball? What if it shanks to the side? What if I miss it altogether?

If Dig and I were playing by ourselves it would be one thing but we were to play with two strangers; two strangers and a foursome behind us, who were watching our every move.

Dig volunteered to go first, thankfully. He took his time teeing up the ball, stretching and taking practice swings. He decided that if we were going to play, he would take the game seriously. And then, with a whole lot of concentration and focus, he hit the ball—very well I might add.

Okay, I thought, if Dig can do it, so can I.

I teed up my ball and took some practice swings. Then the moment of truth, connect, connect, connect, was my only thought. I made a huge back swing then brought the club forward and connected. The ball sailed through the air, not exactly straight but it felt good and I proved to myself and others that I was a contender. I couldn’t believe it: This pissed off eight-year old was actually enjoying herself on the golf course!

Inappropriate

Inappropriate 1999

Age: Twenty-Five

           

            The party had started and I could feel the pound of the base in my living room as I finished getting ready. My friends and co-workers lived downstairs and were having an end-of-the-school year party. Many of us were graduating and would not see each other for a long time, if ever again. A final gathering was in order.

           I had a few groups of friends at UW-Stout: The people I had met in my graphic design courses, my friends and co-workers at The Buck on Main Street and my three closest girl friends. Many of these people over-lapped groups and would be attending the party that night.

I was excited. I was in good shape, tan from the days when I laid in the sun, and wearing jeans with a shirt that showed a little belly-Not too much, but again, I was in good shape, so why not? Two of my closest girlfriends lived with me so they were also getting ready while we waited for the last of our foursome to arrive.

It was nice that the party was so close to my place. All we had to do was grab our beer and head downstairs. Oh yeah, I also made sure to grab my camera. Since it was nearing the end of my career at Stout, I had been capturing many, many moments on film. Of course, when I look at the pictures now I wonder why I took so many, especially when I can’t even remember the names of half the people in them.

My girls and I met at my house, took some pictures and headed downstairs. The party was hopping with people drinking and singing to Rusted Root. This was the perfect crowd for a karaoke machine but we managed without it. I also remember some guys doing keg stands, you know, a handstand on the edge of a keg while sucking on the tap. For the record, I have never and will never do one, but it is a pretty funny thing to watch.

Actually, drinking and I have never really mixed. It’s not like I never drank, I would just pay for it for the next day…or two. At this party, I had a bit of a stomachache from the beginning so I didn’t drink much at all. Instead, I nursed a beer and ended up talking to a guy I knew who frequented The Buck. I didn’t know him well, but felt comfortable enough with him since he knew my friends and he seemed like a nice guy.

We were discussing graduation and job hunting when our friend throwing the party approached us and asked me if I would go turn off my living room light. The light was apparently shining directly into his house and blinding people. I stepped outside and took a look for myself. A blinding look that is, I should have just taken his work for it.

“No problem.” I said, shaking my head trying to get my eyesight back. Then I set down my beer and made my way toward the door.

Jake, the guy I was talking to, asked if he could come with me. I saw no reason to tell him no, so we walked upstairs and turned the light off. Then, I showed him around a bit and we went back to the party. I truly thought nothing of it. The light was now off and our mission was accomplished.

Once we rejoined our friends, I met up with the girls again and busted out my camera. Yes, again with the camera. I was having fun but soon my stomach was really beginning to bother me. I decided that even though it was only midnight, I needed to say goodbye and find my bed as soon as possible.

I gave out a bunch of hugs and turned for the door. Jake stopped me on my way out and asked where I was going. I told him the stomach story and wished him goodnight. He wanted me to stay and hang out with him for a while longer, but I declined. My bed was the only thing on my mind.

I strolled upstairs and in minutes got into my pajamas, brushed my teeth and found some antacids. What in the world did I eat that evening?

My bed felt so good, I closed my eyes and got comfortable. As I was drifting off to sleep, I heard the side door open. I had left it unlocked because my roommates were still downstairs and did not have their keys. I assumed it was them until I saw a tall figure standing in my doorway.

Oh my God! It was a guy! My mind started to race. Who was he? Do I know him? Is it my roommate’s boyfriend? What should I do? My heart was racing yet the rest of my body was still. Then I heard him whisper my name. I looked over my covers as he walked into my room. It was Jake.

What the hell was Jake doing in my bedroom? I knew him but at an acquaintance level, not at a “hey come into my bedroom” level.  He said he was there to see me. I said that I could see he was here to see me, but why? I had not given him an invitation. When I said goodnight that is what I meant…Goodnight.

I told him that I wanted him to leave, that I was in my pajamas and ready for bed. He walked closer and fell onto my bed. I started to panic. What the hell was this? He moved toward me and I could smell the beer on his breath as he tried to kiss me. My arms lunged forward desperate to push him off of me. I was not successful. He was about six feet tall and thinly built but I still could not push him off of me.

“Get off!” I yelled.

He froze for a second then rolled onto the floor.

“Oh, I guess you were waiting for someone else.”

My heart was beating out of control and I could barely breathe. “I was not waiting for anyone!” I yelled. “I am trying to sleep now get the hell out of here!”

He mumbled something and tripped on his way out. I heard the side door shut and lay frozen in my bed. Did that just happen? Was Jake in my room lying on top of me? I did not know what to do next.

Tortured Kid 2

Then I learned a tough lesson I never thought I would learn. The story starts one cool fall day on the playground at my elementary school.  I was running around like a normal kid, having fun and burning off excess energy.

Our school “playground” was not in fact a playground at all but a parking lot for the Catholic Church next door. Apparently, our small school could not provide swings, a slide and grass so we played football and kickball on the pavement. While I was running around that day, I noticed a scuffle between Matt and a couple of boys. The boys seemed to be taunting Matt throwing small pebbles in his direction and then running the other way as Matt yelled something in return. I decided that it was my duty to step in and use my peacekeeping ways to help the situation. After all, how could anyone watch a bullying incident and not speak up?

I ran over to the boys and insisted that they stop harassing poor Matt. The confused boys just looked at me and then I heard a voice behind me say, “Get the hell out of here!” I turned around and to my surprise, it was Matt. And he was talking to me!

“What?” I said, astonished by what I had just heard.

“Are you deaf? Get the hell out of here.”

“But…I was just trying to help,” I explained.

“Well nobody asked you to help, so leave.” He demanded.

I could not believe it. Maybe he thought I was trying to join the bullies. “Matt, I think those guys are being jerks and I do not agree with them.”

At this, Matt leaned toward me and gave me a shove. It did not hurt physically but my mouth dropped open. The two boys who had been throwing pebbles at Matt gave us a look then looked at each other and took off running. I shook my head in disbelief, picked my mouth up off the ground and slowly walked away.

I was pissed off. What the hell just happened? My peacekeeping attempt had failed dramatically. Was Matt embarrassed that a girl was trying to help him? Did I overstep a boundary? Should I have let the boys figure out their problems without assistance? But Matt needed someone to finally stand up for him, didn’t he? He had been teased long enough and needed to know that there were good people out there who did not agree with bullying.

Well, apparently I made a rather large mistake and unknowingly misjudged the entire Matt Situation. After hearing about my confrontation with Matt, a friend offered the knowledge she knew about Matt. My “tortured project,” Matt, was actually the bully. Matt was the one who teased other kids until they would cry. He would intimidate kids with his size and make threats to get his way. He would not compromise with anyone, thought only about himself, and did not care who knew it. My observations about him had been wrong. He was the jerk. Here I felt sorry for this kid and he deserved everything that was handed to him. He seemed to be asking for it. It was almost as if he liked confrontation and this was his way of being entertained.

That was my moment of truth. I thought I was this peacekeeping do-gooder and now all I could focus on was that somebody needed to put this jerk in his place. Somebody needed to take him down from his ego trip and teach him a lesson.

How did I get here? How did this jerk of a guy change me from a sympathetic girl who embraced mentorship to an apathetic girl who wished for revenge? I hate when life’s lessons change a person from an optimist to a pessimist. Pessimism stinks and at this point in my life, so did my attitude.

Later that day on my bus ride home, I was deep in thought about the day’s events. I stared out the window, wondering why this challenge even presented itself to me. Today I changed from a girl who stood up to bullies to a girl who did not mind if bullies were bullied. I did not like myself for feeling that way. Before that day, bullying was bullying and now…I didn’t know.

Does wishing for a bully to fall flat on his face make me a bad person? I contemplated the question over and over in my head and all it did was spark more anger. Why are some people so mean and why am I falling into the revenge trap? Matt had taught me a crappy lesson about people: Not all people are good, not all people have good intentions, and not all people want peace. My outlook on people took a downward turn and I wished that I had never met a big, stinking bully named Matt.

Tortured Kid

Tortured Kid 1984

Age: Ten

There I was: A big fourth grader. I say this because the fourth grade was a big deal at my school. Not only did the fourth graders have their own wing of the school, they also were the lucky ones who delivered milk to the kindergarteners.

“Delivered milk?” You say?

Why yes, it was a sought after responsibility.

The fourth grade wing was in the basement of the school and we had our own bathrooms and were located right next to the school refrigerator. Now that I think of it, I am not exactly sure why there was a large, random refrigerator down there, but there was and it was cool. Every day the kindergarteners needed milk for their snack break and we got to take turns delivering it to them. Everyone looked forward to their shot at milk duty.

I loved the responsibility of collecting the milk and bringing it to the little kids. We were sort of heroes as we walked into the classroom and I embraced the mentor idea. I was one to do the right things for the right reasons and being a good role model came naturally to me. I had always idolized the upper classmen who were good to me and set a good example. I wanted to turn around and do the same thing for the younger kids when I grew up. And fourth grade was very grown up.

Along with mentoring, I also felt the need to protect those kids who were bullied by others. Treating others poorly just because they were different from me made zero sense in my mind. I’m not saying that I always agreed with everyone, I would just use my head and find some common ground. I was a self-proclaimed peacekeeper. For the most part, my Pollyanna attitude worked and I managed to help my friends or random kids work through their differences; until I met Matt.

Matt was an odd kid to say the least. He had grown twice as fast as everyone in his grade so he looked more like a fifth grader than a second grader. He was tall, a bit on the heavy side, and his clothes never seemed to fit. One would think that a kid his size would be too big for any of the Catholic School uniforms we were forced to wear, but Matt actually seemed to drown in his outfits. He was constantly grabbing the back of his pants by the waist and pulling them up. I would have suggested a belt, but he had other problems to tackle.

Matt’s personality was not the most attractive. He would often rough house with the guys in his class pinning them down until they begged for mercy. He seemed to think rough play was fun and did not realize that he was being a jerk. After repeated offenses, he began to reach outcast status. Tripping him on the way to the bus, teasing his oversized wardrobe and the “oh so popular” spitball attack were often launched at Matt’s expense. Kids can be so mean. I could not understand why some kids felt that bullying was the answer.

Now, my observations of Matt were made on the playground, in the hallway and on the way to the bus. I was two years older so I actually never had a class with him and had never even spoken to him, but I still felt that he deserved my sympathies. He seemed to be the kind of guy that deserved anybody’s sympathies.