Unforgettable lessons Dad probably knew the answer.
But I never asked, “Why did Mom take me to my first golf lesson?” Fifty years
ago, it didn’t matter.
Neither did golf. That’s why I didn’t question being with my
mother and Mac Main, the pro at Glen Oaks Golf Club, at the tee on a short par
four.
“Swing this way,” said the sturdy Main as he hit a draw that
landed less than twenty feet from the pin. That was most of the lesson.
Although I was impressed, for more than fifteen years I never took another
lesson. I had no reason to; I didn’t play again until years later when my Dad
surprised me.
“Son, I want you to have this,” he said, as he handed me a
share of Tuscarora Golf Club stock. “You can play whenever you want.”
I remember studying that certificate, considering how it
connected me to a golf course my Dad had helped create.
“Maybe you’ll want to play with us on Sunday,” he added.
Even if I didn’t accept that particular invitation, I did
many times after that. In fact, for decades I enjoyed teaming with Dad at
Tuscarora. Whenever we played, even well into his late seventies, I never beat
him.
I never could. In time, I realized I didn’t want to.
Instead, I wanted to appreciate Dad’s joy as he played, his antics and
camaraderie, his sincere encouragement whenever I hit the ball. What I enjoyed
was the almost spiritual aspect to Dad’s game, his kinship that had nothing to
do with who won or lost.
On this Father’s Day, I won’t play a round of golf. Although
I may spend a few hours watching the U.S. Open Championship, I’ll spend more
time thinking about the love of the game Dad taught me.
More than that, I’ll recall the love he shared, as if golf
was just one expression of an affection so genuine that Father’s Day no longer
comes without its profoundly embedded memories of him.
Today, tears of recollection serve as my tribute to him, my
dearest Dad.
B.Koplen 6/16/13
Father’s Day
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