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My father gave me golf; chilled, dewy mornings,
the fog hovering over the fairways giving way to
steam as the summer sun came to full view. He gave
me club selection and "keep your head down"
and "smooth, easy swing".
My father gave me golf etiquette, which, with minimal
adjustment, is life etiquette; "replace your
divot ... we'll let these folks play through ...
mark your ball but don't walk across the other man's
lie on the green ... don't cheat ... we're just
playing for fun today, so take a mulligan."
My father and golf gave me hope; "a couple
of good putts and you'd have had a great round ...
you keep hitting that 4-wood and you'll be shooting
par ... tough round, we'll get 'em next round."
My father and golf even gave me accountability:
I'm perhaps 14 years old, playing 9-holes with my
cousin, buddy and serious golf competition, Tim;
using my Uncle Bob's clubs. They were good clubs,
it was a bad round. Somewhere in mid-round I prepare
my approach shot to the green; a 5-iron ... I address
the ball ... relax ... head down ... swing ... follow
through ... clunk, shank, splash ... water shot.
Aargh!!! The club leaves my hands, by way of me
throwing it, and is propelled into the sky like
a blade that lost its helicopter, as I simultaneously
beg the Great Father to manifest a miracle, turn
the clock back 5 seconds and return that club to
my offending hands. Too late. In one of those, what
are the odds of this ever happening moments, the
club spins its way, all the way, to the green, hits
the pin and snaps off right between the shaft and
the head. I don't recall my exact reaction, but
looking back I imagine something on the order of
a churning stomach and an "Oh, s..t" may
have occurred.
In that Elmer's glue and masking tape were out
of the question, I retrieved the dismembered and
dishonored stick and we finished our round, albeit
half-heartedly on my part.
As I am writing this story, my first impression
is that I returned to my aunt and uncle's home that
afternoon with more than a little fear of my parents'
response to my violence on the links. Looking deeper,
I can connect with the great sense of embarrassment
that I carried in the door. I had desecrated a sacred
place, the golf course. I had destroyed a sacred,
ceremonial object and on top of all that, it was
one borrowed from a respected elder. But, worst
of all, my momentary lapse of conscious control
exposed a piece of my dark side, my Shadow as the
Jungian psychologists label it; an aspect of my
personality that I believed I had previously kept
well hidden; my impulsive and explosive anger.
I prepared for my father's anger, which was, at
times, impulsive and formidable. I'm sure I told
my story with as much truth as I could muster, although
I have no clear memory of this humiliation. Then,
as I awaited my father's wrath, dad breathed, looked
at me and calmly asked, "You have a 5-iron
in your set, don't you?" "Yes." "Well,
now that club is Uncle Bob's 5-iron." Maybe
more was said, maybe not. I truly don't even remember
relinquishing the club formerly known as Chris'
5-iron. Frankly, I'm not even certain this incident
took place quite like I've recited it to you. None
of that matters. What matters is that in my memory,
in that moment, I received from my father a crucial
lesson in accountability, a lesson that has stayed
with me always. I have not always lived the lesson,
but when I have, it has guided decisions of great
import in my career, my marriage, my fathering.
The message: A man had given a boy his trust. The
boy, struggling to become a man, had literally and
figuratively broken that trust and there had to
be a cost; a personal price to be paid that had
meaning in the boy's life.
Since that time I've damaged others with my anger.
But, I've returned many times to the lesson given
to me by golf, and dad, that day. Starting on that
day and with the assistance of other good men and
women I have found myself, over the years, better
and better able to think before I act or attack,
to own my errors, to clean up the emotional messes
I occasionally make, and to make amends to those
I have harmed whenever possible.
So, some of you have thought that golf is just
a game, and a fool's game at that. No, golf is a
sacred ceremony with much wisdom for those who will
listen. Golf is sensual and spiritual and chock-full
of life's best rules. Accountability is one of them.
If I hunch up my left shoulder, I will slice. If
I break a man's 5-iron, I will give him mine. This
type of justice is often painful, and in our world
hard to find, but it can be found ... on fairways
and greens, in sand traps and thick, green rough.
I'm looking forward to teaching Nathan to golf.
I hope I am able to gift its lessons to the next
generation.
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