Bob Dreizler's Resources: The Summer I Almost Lost My Favorite Golf Partner
The Summer I Almost Lost My Favorite Golf Partner
Only a golfer could believe that a visit to a driving range would become a sentimental experience, but that's what happened last night. When my fourteen-year-old son picked the last ball from the bucket and crushed one straight and long, I knew I'd be playing for another summer with my favorite golf partner.
Last night Ross was his old happy self again. The cheerful kid I watched grow up was back, temporarily replacing the often-sullen teenage boy he'd become during the last six months.
I've read several books about teenage boys and talked to dozens of parents who have lived through this phase. I know this is normal, even healthy behavior. Fathers and sons are supposed to have an ego separation after years of ego blending. But knowing that doesn't make life much easier during those times when you feel like your long-time golfing buddy would just as soon his father is a three wood shot away from him.
Ross' interests have changed since last summer. Instead of spending hours perfecting his chip shot in the back yard, he prefers to polish his skateboard moves or play his shiny red drum set in the basement.
When Ross chose not to sign up for Babe Ruth baseball this Spring I was disappointed. I knew I'd dearly miss spending warm afternoons sitting in the stands, watching Ross hustle around the bases or make a sharp play at second base.
Skateboarding was more appealing, not structured like baseball. He could skate with his pals when he wanted, for as long as he wanted. This type of spontaneity was more in harmony with his free-spirited nature
.I accepted my loss of baseball well, I thought, but soon I started to worry that golf would be next. Every summer Wednesday since he was seven, Ross played Little Linkers or Junior Golf at Haggin Oaks. He'd outgrown his clubs, so I asked if he wanted a new set for Christmas. No, he wanted a set of drums. When his birthday came, I offered again, but he chose a new skateboard instead.
Being a "skater-dude", he adopted the uniform and temperament of his peers. I accepted the oversized pants and his olive wool cap, but his accompanying scowl and his abrupt answers to my friendly questions really bothered me.
In February, he finally got to play 18 holes at the beautiful Bodega Bay course that I promised we'd play when he was good enough. We shot a respectable round and thoroughly enjoyed our day together on the links, but after that he declined all my invitations to "putt around" or "hit some at the range".
When it came time to attend the Junior Golf orientation clinic, he was resistant; there were more important things to do. He had made a commitment to play his first round; after that we would reassess his desire to continue.
At the Saturday orientation meeting, he wore his super-baggy blue jeans, despite heat over 100 degrees, and he refused to cover his shaggy skater haircut with the official golf cap.
Wednesday, checking in for his first round, I felt his discomfort at my presence, so I wished him a good round. Before I left, he said he'd be happy to break 110 due to his four-month layoff.
Driving back to my office, I worried that this could be his last round of golf for a long time. It might be years before I'd play eighteen again with my favorite golfing buddy.
When Ross called I was apprehensive, but as soon as I heard his voice I knew his love for golf had not died. "Hey Dad, guess what?" he exclaimed. "I shot a 102". Despite using clubs that were six inches too short, he played well, enjoyed himself and even met another skater-dude
.A week later he shot a 98, breaking 100 for the first time in his life. After that round we visited one of my regular golfing partners. Vic made him an intermediate set of clubs that should fit him for another year or two. By then he'll be my size, or taller, and he'll need full-sized set.
Driving home he expressed his enthusiasm, even suggesting we try out his new sticks that night. So after dinner we went to the course, putted around, practiced our chipping, and then split a large bucket at the lighted driving range. We were so absorbed that we didn't arrive home until ten o'clock, half an hour late.
Over the years my relationship with my son has weathered many challenges. I've enjoyed watching him become a man and develop his own unique interests, but I've also feared those competing interests might extinguish his love for golf.
But that night at the driving range as we hit golf balls and watched them disappear into the warm night sky, I felt confident that we'd be playing rounds together for a long time.
Like any golfer, I don't like to lose, but there is one golf match I am anxious to lose. It's the one when my favorite golf partner, my son Ross, outplays me.
Three years later, Ross beat me four strokes while on a golf vacation in Colorado.