There just came a day in my life when I realized that I wanted to start learning to play golf with my husband, Greg. He has been squeezing in a round here and there since his teenage years, when as a high school basketball standout he convinced the golf coach to let him join the JV team just for something to do when the basketball season was over. I’m tall (nearly six feet), athletic (I played basketball and volleyball in high school), and a lover of all sports, so how hard could it be?
Up to that point, Greg didn’t get to play that often—he was busy with medical school, residency, joining a practice—and I was always busy with babies and our home life. Eventually, Greg convinced me to give golf a try—mostly so we could spend extra time together. I think we already had five children by the time I swung my first club. And I was truly terrible. Greg patiently tried to teach me everything he knew, but it was a rough go. Time went by. I had another baby—number six. We continued to throw ourselves into our kids’ lives. We coached teams, attended games and concerts and school programs, attended church. We took family vacations to Disneyland and Lake Powell and Hawaii. Greg built up his bustling medical practice. We did it all. And occasionally we would leave the kiddos home, dust off the clubs and head to the links.
Each time we golfed, I was nervous. I just felt so embarrassingly terrible at golf! I was always hoping against hope that we wouldn’t be paired up with another twosome. But we always were. And then I’d hope against hope that one of them would be a woman. They usually never were. And then I’d hope against hope that I’d actually hit the ball on my first try. I usually didn’t. I hated having everyone go silent, all eyes on me, each time I teed off. It was just too much pressure! One time on a really nice course, the foursome ahead of us decided to let us play through. So instead of three men watching me tee off, there were seven men watching me. I almost had a heart attack. I prayed every prayer I could think of in thirty seconds, held my breath, swung that driver (probably with my eyes squeezed shut), and thwack, smacked the ball off the tee. My knees nearly buckled; I was so relieved.
Try as I might, I just didn’t seem to get much better. Whenever I’d think I was improving, I would miss the ball again. Then I would inhale deeply to stop myself from falling on the soft, manicured grass and bawling like a baby.
One time, we came upon a large maintenance crew working on our hole. I was rattled a bit. I didn’t want to kill any of them with an errant shot! Greg assured me that it would be fine, but I knew that I had very little control over my ball. I think the crew noticed my hesitation, because they started stepping aside, sweeping their arms in a “Go ahead, ma’am” kind of way. Oh boy. Now they were all watching me hit. Knees shaking, praying fervently, I swung and missed the ball, taking a chunk of grass for good measure. I looked up in time to see the crew chuckling. I could sort of hear Greg telling me to relax, to not think about it, to go ahead and try again, but I’m not entirely sure because my ears were ringing from the embarrassment. I gathered myself, saying things in my head like “You are an ATHLETE! Pull yourself together and hit this dang ball!” I swung. I hit it straight into the pond behind the men.
Greg chatted amicably with the men while I just dropped another ball on the green close to the pin. I couldn’t get off that hole fast enough. However, just as we pulled up to the next tee box, the entire maintenance crew zipped around us to begin work on the next hole! For four holes, I hit every shot with them watching. And it was a lot of shots. On one hole, I hit it into the water three times. They chuckled a bit, ducked for cover, and tried to remain inconspicuous. All the while, I wanted to jump in the water myself and never come up! I was trying desperately to hide my discouragement from my husband. This was a rare day out without the kids. We were supposed to be having fun. But when he couldn’t help me shake it off, hole after hole, he finally said something like, “You’ve just got to get over your fear of playing in front of people!!” And then I burst into tears. It was very glamorous.
I can’t believe I didn’t quit.
But now that all of our little ones are in school, and some of our older ones are in college, Greg and I are finding more and more opportunities to play golf. We love trying out new courses, and we especially love traveling to some of Greg’s bucket-list courses. I don’t know how much I’ve improved over the years, but I don’t have to say a prayer before every swing anymore. And I usually connect with the ball on the first try. I’m starting to see my shots end up where I was aiming, and sometimes (rarely!) I do something amazing. “That’s what keeps you coming back,” Greg always says. These days, we lie in bed at night dreaming up new golfing destinations. Next on our list? Banff in Alberta, Canada.
I’m still not good at golf. But one time, when I thought I would die from embarrassment, Greg told me these beautiful words of wisdom that have made all the difference for me: 1. No one cares if you are a duffer. Everyone is just happy to be the better golfer. 2. Everyone is friendly when you are playing golf.
Those encouraging words have proven true time and time again.
So, to the professional soccer player and his dad in Hawaii, to the Chicagoans on vacation in Phoenix, even to the scary-looking dudes in Mesquite, Nevada, and to the countless other twosomes we have encountered—four or five hours is a long time to spend with complete strangers—I hope you felt happy being the better golfer! Thank you for being nothing but kind. Thank you for sharing stories, for sometimes chunking your own hit, for getting to know me, for giving me a few tips of your own, and for cheering when I sunk a long putt. Thank you for peering closely at my cell phone while Greg teed off to see a picture of my kids after you got over your surprise that we have six of them. And yes, they are all ours. Thank you for showing me that everyone truly is friendly on the golf course. And that I’m welcome in this game too.
Of all the sports I have ever tried to play, this is by far the most challenging—and the most embarrassing. But thanks to all of the better golfers who have ever been gracious to me or someone like me, I’m still here swinging my clubs. Feel free to look away and make a little noise. I’m not that much better.
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