Life Lessons at the Home of Golf
Before the stroke and before the worldwide pandemic my Pops had a dream to go to Scotland and play St. Andrews, widely considered the home of golf. Neither of us were very good at the game yet, my 77 year old father beat me most of the time.
However, this trip wasn’t so much about golf but more about the experience and a chance to get to know my father better.
My Pops and I had always pressed each other pretty hard. More than just merely competitive, I admired my dad for so many reasons, but also felt I had to continually prove myself to him. It was complicated to say the least, this trip I was hoping would help us bridge a gap that both of us knew existed but neither of us really understood.
By the time I landed in Scotland, my dad had already been there for a couple of days. When I arrived the rental car was already traded in due to it being a manual and having to drive on the “wrong” side of the road lead to the continually hitting of curbs. He had ruined one tire so badly that he had to scrummage up a wrong size spare tire at a farmers abode to make it to our destination.
Needless to say by the time I arrived, Pops handed me the keys to the car and the rest of the time, I was behind the wheel. The countryside was beautiful and as I acclimated to driving in the left lane I marveled at the stone hedges, the rolling hills and the quaint villages scattered along every few miles.
Dad insisted on ordering us traditional golf knickers and caps which I begrudgingly agreed to wear for one of our rounds.
Funnily enough we were the only two blokes brave (or crazy) enough to wear the old world gear and as a result we were asked by many for pictures.
My entrepreneurial side was itching to charge a pound or two for each glamor shot and probably could have paid for a chunk of the trip but decided that was probably a bit greedy.
The history and people watching made our first hole nerve wracking. Dad fell to the pressure and hacked his way to a very high score (one which I will keep to myself). As the holes passed, we settled and just enjoyed ourselves while we drank in the very cool atmosphere.
I marveled at the man playing next to me. Seventy Seven years old and playing like a man 20 years younger.
We talked about a variety of topics—kids, work, money, golf, success, love and good beer. My drive to beat my dad disappeared and I soaked in the magnitude of how special these moments truly are.
St. Andrews did not end up being our favorite course that we played on that special trip, but it was the moment that I let go of the expectations that I had of what our relationship should look like and appreciated it for what it was instead.
Writing this two years later those moments hold even more meaning. My Pops survived a stroke less than a year after, we both navigated a worldwide pandemic and time has become even more precious.
That trip changed so many things for me. It started out as a trip to celebrate my Dad and thank him for all the things he had done for me and ended up teaching me lessons I wish I had learned many years before. Life is short, so damn short.
