For my initial foray into the Blogosphere (Blogland? BlogWorld?), I thought I would share a little story about a special moment I had last weekend.
Charlie and I ducked out late Saturday afternoon to take in 9 holes of golf at the South Shore Country Club. It was our first time out for the summer, and my game was a vivid illustration. I couldn't hit a drive to save my life, even with my 3 wood, which I now rely upon far more often than the Big Bertha. As you know, I've never learned to control that beast. I'm talking sheer ugliness that day -- even to the point of hooking drives way left (which I rarely do), like a baseball player getting around way too early on a change-up. Charlie, meanwhile, is steady as she goes. Every shot sailed straight down the middle, which truthfully made me happier than if I had been playing well.
It was a beautiful afternoon. The late afternoon sun illuminated the brilliant colors of the golf course as only can happen in the spring or fall. We finished the 5th hole and stepped up to the 6th. "Where's the hole, Dad?" Charlie said. You can't see the green from the tee on the 6th (it's where the kids go sledding in the winter).
"Just over that hill," I replied, which suddenly made me think to myself, "Just beyond that rise..."
I smiled to myself, looked out -- just beyond that rise -- and thought of you, wishing at that moment that our twosome was a threesome. "I'm going to dedicate this drive to Mark," I thought to myself. For some odd reason, I pulled out the Big Bertha for its maiden voyage of the day. I stepped up, steadied the hands, and struck the ball. Beautiful. Majestic. Long. Very long. And dead straight. Steadily rising higher and higher toward the puffy white clouds as the yards passed rapidly underneath. Seeming like it would never come down. I couldn't see the end result as it disappeared behind the hill, but I knew as soon as I hit it. One of the all-time best.
Why was I able to channel everything I had at that moment into hitting the perfect drive on the perfect afternoon over the perfect rise? Of course, if I knew, I would quit my job tomorrow and join the tour. But I like to think it was a sign -- a positive sign of the beauty of life and good things to come.
The rest of the round was decidedly non-descript as far as my playing goes. But for one shot, one brief moment in time when you were there with me, all was just as it should be.