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Four Thursdays from now, Summer ends for me. I am told that I will begin Winter at 8:00 am Friday morning. I will take my golf bag out of my trunk along with my Sun Mountain cart, three pairs of golf shoes, two rain jackets, one fleece sweater, assorted socks, hats, worn-out golf gloves, several dozen golf balls of various stages of use, and innumerable broken tees, used score cards, and a water bottle that somehow broke in half. I’ll clean out the dried grass. And summer will be done for six months while a torn rotator cuff heals.
I’ve had injuries that have kept me off the golf course before. Knee surgeries, a pulled muscle in my back, and a groin pull all conspired to keep me away from the course for a while. But nothing has ever kept me away for this long or prevented me from at least swinging a club back and forth. I am told that I will be so trussed up for at least 6 weeks that I can’t swing with both hands and that my therapist will kill me if I try. I’ll work diligently to rehap the shoulder. I’m a good patient. But I won’t play golf until mid-January. This a prospect that is too painful to believe.
It has been a good golf summer for me, at least until it abruptly and prematurely ends. I have found a set of irons that I love, a putter than listens to me (periodically), a wedge that is almost automatic, a new attitude towards strategy, and a renewed optimism about what is possible for a sixty-year old to accomplish on the course. I have written a couple of things that I am proud of, seen some improvement in my physical health, and read a couple of pretty good golf books. But in the bottom of my heart, I’ll still think of this as the lost summer, the summer that was snatched away.
Still it would multiply the tragic sense of loss that I feel about these next six months if I didn’t learn something from them. I hope I will. Like all of the hundreds of college courses I’ve taken and taught over my career in academia, what I think I will learn is seldom what I actually do learn. But I know with absolute certainty that I have already learned one thing - I will do everything in my power never to have my game ripped away from me.
Many of us are at an age when time is not our friends. We have or are beginning to see old friends begin to fade physically and even mentally. We know it will happen to all of us unless something abrupt happens to accelerate the process. I have decided that that day, the day when I clean out my trunk for good, will be the day of my choosing, not the result of neglectful, negligent silliness on my part. I will not “go gently into that good [golf] night”. The weight comes off. My cholesterol and blood pressure come down, I’m watching my blood sugar, and I’m walking the course at least half the time.
Let’s do it together, friends. Let’s talk about our hopes and efforts to prolong our golf futures. Let’s encourage each other along the way. Let’s become “that old guy” that walks on the tee with a bunch of young flat-bellies and demonstrates that “age and treachery will overcome youth and skill”. That’s the future I want for myself and I’ll bet its the future you want for you.
Let’s only clean out our trunks when we want to, not when we have to. Let’s get involved with ourselves. The alternative is too painful to consider. I know. I have.
I’ve had injuries that have kept me off the golf course before. Knee surgeries, a pulled muscle in my back, and a groin pull all conspired to keep me away from the course for a while. But nothing has ever kept me away for this long or prevented me from at least swinging a club back and forth. I am told that I will be so trussed up for at least 6 weeks that I can’t swing with both hands and that my therapist will kill me if I try. I’ll work diligently to rehap the shoulder. I’m a good patient. But I won’t play golf until mid-January. This a prospect that is too painful to believe.
It has been a good golf summer for me, at least until it abruptly and prematurely ends. I have found a set of irons that I love, a putter than listens to me (periodically), a wedge that is almost automatic, a new attitude towards strategy, and a renewed optimism about what is possible for a sixty-year old to accomplish on the course. I have written a couple of things that I am proud of, seen some improvement in my physical health, and read a couple of pretty good golf books. But in the bottom of my heart, I’ll still think of this as the lost summer, the summer that was snatched away.
Still it would multiply the tragic sense of loss that I feel about these next six months if I didn’t learn something from them. I hope I will. Like all of the hundreds of college courses I’ve taken and taught over my career in academia, what I think I will learn is seldom what I actually do learn. But I know with absolute certainty that I have already learned one thing - I will do everything in my power never to have my game ripped away from me.
Many of us are at an age when time is not our friends. We have or are beginning to see old friends begin to fade physically and even mentally. We know it will happen to all of us unless something abrupt happens to accelerate the process. I have decided that that day, the day when I clean out my trunk for good, will be the day of my choosing, not the result of neglectful, negligent silliness on my part. I will not “go gently into that good [golf] night”. The weight comes off. My cholesterol and blood pressure come down, I’m watching my blood sugar, and I’m walking the course at least half the time.
Let’s do it together, friends. Let’s talk about our hopes and efforts to prolong our golf futures. Let’s encourage each other along the way. Let’s become “that old guy” that walks on the tee with a bunch of young flat-bellies and demonstrates that “age and treachery will overcome youth and skill”. That’s the future I want for myself and I’ll bet its the future you want for you.
Let’s only clean out our trunks when we want to, not when we have to. Let’s get involved with ourselves. The alternative is too painful to consider. I know. I have.
