Wednesday, May 6, 2009

On the subject of "Preparing for the Back Nine"

"I'm not over the hill. I'm just on the back nine."
- A pillow that belonged to my Dad that I brought home with me from his house.

In just 6 days, I will no longer be 45 and lost in cyberspace. Yes, the calendar page turns and with it, the sense of being young.

I know it is just a different day, and the world does not change. The perspective, however is beginning to change. On my radio is still the music of a 20 or 30 year old. My sense of humor is more of a teenager than a middle-ager. Life's dreams, goals, and challenges - now, that is a different story.

Last week, I was privileged to be given access to Seattle Golf Club to tape a series of interviews with some golfers of the past from a local university's program. In this role, I was able to talk to people with a wide range of memories from those who won a championship two years before I was born to those who just recently graduated. While all the stories were wonderful, I related more to the stories of the older generation than the younger, and that both surprised and saddened me.

Listening to the stories of the older golfers was like listening to my Dad. The camaraderie, the memories, the love they had for each other, all became very apparent. It was the kind of story I had not heard from a member of that generation since my Dad passed away three years ago.

Walking through the locker room at that club brought another fact into focus. The design of that room is eerily similar to that of the club that my Dad belonged to in Bethesda, Maryland. At "BT", I felt as though I was part of an incredible privileged group of people who had made a difference. At the Seattle Golf Club, I sadly felt like a visitor who had not achieved what I believed I could where I could be amongst the members.

Talking to the members of the championship teams, many doctors or successful business men or golf pros, I was transported back to a time when time on the course was time spent reconnecting with my Dad. A bad day on the course was better than most good days in the office.

The last time I shared a golf course with my dad was one of the greatest experiences of my life. We played in a father/son tournament, and finished just two strokes out of the awards. We came so close, but it didn't seem to matter. The next time I would see him, he would be recovering from heart surgery, unable to even get to a golf course let alone play.

The last time I saw him, we talked old golf stories, and looked at some pictures. We knew that no matter what would happen, we always had that weekend at BT.

Now, I get ready to make the turn and head to the back nine. I haven't set foot on a golf course to play since he died. It seems too painful as if I hit a good shot, that would always be the one I would want to call Dad about.

The trip to Seattle Golf Club brought with it other thoughts. Would I ever live up to the life where I felt I could belong? My life has taken such strange turns lately. My old self would be longing for the "club life" or the "good life" as my Dad always called it.

My current friends, the ones who make me happiest, are not club types, but rather ones that seem more "touchable" and more "reachable."

I don't want to give up the dream of success that allows me perks and privilege, but I never want to lose touch with the friends who have shaped my life.

The conflict seems like a 20 foot putt to force a playoff in a tournament. Making it keeps the dream alive. Missing it doesn't mean the end, but it makes you wonder what if.

Right now, the question of "what if?" seems to be taking the shape of "what could be?" Exciting and scary all at the same time.

What lies on the back nine? Do I play an iron and play it safe or go for it with the "Loco" driver that was my final golf present from my dad? I step up to the tee soon. And frankly, it's a daunting task.

Yours truly,
Johnny Blogger

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