My high school sits rather reluctantly on the edge of a sprawling golf course, of which you must pass if you wish to reach the school. So every morning I watch the workers steady the flags at each hole, and watch the sun and fog waft softly through the trees. It’s peaceful in the morning, as if its relaxing from its hours of work during the day.
But this morning, it wasn’t empty. A rather unsteady and plaid-shorted man was jogging excitedly from hole to hole, and while at a stop light, I watched the man as he shimmied and shifted in his position before swinging his shiny golf club and promptly hitting himself in the head on his back swing rather than the ball, which stood defiantly in it’s little peg. The man looked at it as if a magic trick had been preformed on him, and rubbed his head. He swiftly glanced at the street, saw he had an audience and quickly completed an adequate swing to redeem his skills. I smiled as I drove away, wondering what the Golf Man was doing at seven-thirty in the morning attempting to improve himself at golf. He certainly had a great attitude, expressed through his admirable new-looking hat with a pom-pom on the top.
And while Golf Man might tell people he’s a pro at golf, I’ll always know he’s just like everyone else, making mistakes. I see people sometimes that look so wonderful on the outside – you think of how their life must be, how beautiful they must feel all the time – but really we’re all just people. Some people are loud, some are smart, some sing well, some dance horribly, and others should not play golf.
Well wishes, Golf Man. May you go back to hole number nine and try again tomorrow, for I will be cheering you on.