Playing golf is not my favorite way to spend my time. When I was a kid we used to go golfing with my parents. They went golfing each Saturday with my aunt Jenny. The kid that went golfing would be rewarded with their very own Big Gulp at the end of the round. I went a few times, but it was never my favorite thing to do. Eventually I stopped going (I was probably about 10).
Fast forward about 12 years and my friend Bethany somehow signed up for her company's golf tournament. So we signed up to take lessons together. I had high hopes to learn and become a good golfer. The guy that taught our class wasn't the best teacher. He would go on and on about how I was too tall to use women's clubs, and how women can't use men's clubs. He would get stuck on that subject and forget to actually teach. However, after my lessons I went out with my parent's and my sister Val to play 9 holes of golf. So here I am, straight out of lessons - thinking and concentrating on all the things I learned: bend your knees, keep your head down, watch your grip... Here Val is, not having played, and not caring how she does. Yeah, she beat me. Everyone beat me.
Fast forward another six or seven years. I haven't played golf since the day with my family. For some reason I decide it is a good idea for Father's day to offer to take my dad golfing. Oh wait, now I remember, I don't know how to golf! So Matt takes me to the driving range on Thursday. In my first 20 or so strokes I hit the ball twice. It took me a LONG time to get into the groove, but eventually I found it and I was able to hit the ball in a relatively straight line for an OK distance.
I may be ready for this golfing thing after all.
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