Saturday Golf


Turning the corner, you see in the distance the Golf Course. Most days as I make my way home from the morning walk, there are a few die hard golfers finishing 9 or 18 before heading into their day. On Saturdays though, especially early in the morning ahead of the day’s heat, golfers pepper the landscape. Saturday morning golf has always seemed a part of my life. My Dad was an avid fan, and each Saturday morning that I lived in their house, he was gone before I woke up. When JP2 was of age, he would accompany him to caddy and carry what was acknowledged to be the heaviest bag at the club. I smirk when I think of them sharing stories at the dinner table of the days adventures and the chatter from the 19th hole. It never inspired in me a desire to play – probably the opposite. At the time, I think I felt the conversations were, frankly, boring. I’m sure today I would feel the same. Like I missed the party. And yet, it is the animation and camaraderie they felt that I remember fondly. The sense of doing something together that makes me smile with nostalgia.

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