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!