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Golf Wanderings
by Chris Henry on August 7, 2007
My wife and I took my 82 year old father-in-law out to play 9 holes. Bob has been an avid golfer all his life, a former champion at his club in Toronto and in Palm Desert where he and his wife lived for about 10 years after retiring.
But kidney disease has put Bob on a dialysis machine three times a week for five hours at a time. He's frail and skinny as a rail.
However, his mind still works and he knows he still loves the game.
All the way to the course Bob commented about how beautiful the countryside was, how lovely and blue the sky was, what a wonderful day it was to play golf.
We arrived at our chosen location, a pretty and very hilly 9-hole track that boasts some exceptional views on holes with higher elevations. Indeed, it is a lovely little course.
But I began to focus on how many ball marks were unrepaired on the greens, how hard the sand was in the traps and what mistakes I was making in my swing.
Bob, on the other hand, would drop his ball on the tee, take a couple of short, relaxed backswings, mutter once or twice, "now don't try to kill it, Bob" and then swing. His shots were very short - he has so little strength, these days - but he made contact and the ball went straight down the middle.
Stepping out of the cart at one particular green, Bob said to Wendy, my wife, "this is a dream come true. I can't believe I'm doing this".
You see, Bob didn't care how well he hit the ball. He didn't have a goal of shooting a number. His aim was accomplished every time he looked around at the golf course that surrounded him, every time he stepped out of the cart and drew a club from his bag, every time he shuffled onto a green with his putter and stroked the ball toward the cup.
Bob was playing golf again. And that's all that mattered.
Me? I struggled on some holes and beat myself up, did very well on other holes and berated myself for not doing better.
In other words, I didn't play golf. I "worried and fretted" golf.
Bob played golf. And he loved it.
He played like it was the last time he would ever play.
I hope to God it isn't; he's a very good teacher.
Permalink: Thank You, Bob
Trackback: http://publish.creative-weblogging.com/publish/mt-tb.pl/85120
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Rating: 10.00 out of 1 vote(s) cast.
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Response from:
Mark
(08/07/07 10:29am)
Response from:
Dave
(08/08/07 9:57am)
If only we could all play like Bob, I'm sure this will be a round you will never forget Chris. Hopefully, there will be many more!!!
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I had a great friend and good golfer pass away a few years ago now from a "rare" form of Cancer at age 46. Before it finally overcame him, he had his left arm amputated and went through all the treatments that modern medicine can conjure.
The last round of golf he played was with me up in Lindsay, Ontario at Oliver's Nest GC. This was a favourite track of his. Now remember, he had only his right arm and not a lot of go left in him.
He just wanted to come with me and drive the cart. Well, when I went to pick him up, doesn't he come out of the house with his clubs and shoes.
I was astonished that he was actually going to try and play.
All the way up there he was marvelling as was Bob, at the beauty of the countryside with the rolling hills and tree's.
We arrived and went to the the first tee and Michael pulled out his Driver. I must admit that I was extremely apprehensive about his ability to actually hit the ball never mind get it down the fairway.
With a great right arm swing he advanced the ball about 75 yards right into the fescue in front of the tee. He decided then, that maybe it might be prudent to just drop a ball at the 150 yard marker and play into the greens from there.
On the third, he actually holed out from the greenside bunker with probably a better swing with one arm than he had ever made with two. Anyway, shortly thereafter he ran out of steam and just drove the cart.
At the end of the day on the drive home he told me that he did not think that he would ever be able to play again and that I should appreciate the fact that I would.
To this day, I have never really allowed myself to get upset on a golf course. When I make a bad shot I hear Mike's words in my mind.
He was the consumate golfer and a great friend. Without knowing it he imparted in me the will to get into competative golf. It was his dream to play on "tour". ANY TOUR. So, when I play any round of golf, I always think of Mike and try to play with grace and sportsmanship and most of all with tenacity. Hell, if he can play with one arm and enjoy the game and the countryside after what he went through, I can surely play knowing that I am just lucky to be there.