Yesterday I drove from Lawrence, KS, through southern Kansas City (where, on a whim, I called and dropped in to visit some friends from my Kansas City days) on south through the center of the state, past the flooded rivers that comprise the western edges of Lake of the Ozarks, past Branson with all the billboards for the Best Shows Ever! (many featuring caricatures of mountain people with goofy hats, big noses, few teeth and always, a banjo.)
My destination is the Ozark Folk Center in Mountain View, Arkansas, along a route that is green, green, green! I'm listening to an audiobook entitled, "The Search for Tiger" about the beginning of Tiger Woods' incredible professional career.
You need to know that golf is not a passion of mine. But it was one of my father's passions.
I recall his annual pre-season cleaning and polishing of the irons, the pitching wedge with plastic balls in the side yard, the little putting devices that would spit the ball back at the golfer. I would look forward to his invitation to attend an early-Thursday morning golf outing, not for the game, but for the time with Dad. Thursday was his only day off from his doctor's office and it was sacred time to spend together, getting our shoes wet in the morning dew, with the short grass clippings clinging to the sides of our shoes. Smelling the world awaken at Tanglewood Golf Course in Wood County, Ohio.
As this story unfolds, I find myself sifting through memories of my father as I hear of the discovery and development of Tiger's natural talent into professional skills.
My resistance to golf is softening as I begin imagining trying it again, just to feel closer to my Dad, who passed on years ago.
No comments:
Post a Comment