As soon as I walked in the door he asked. Do you want to come out and play golf with me? For the next couple of hours we hit plastic golf balls back and forth to each other. At not quite 3 years old, our grandboy is already a better golfer that I ever was or ever will be.
His dad is the superintendent of one of the nicer golf and country clubs in the city, so this wee boy has seen golf balls and clubs laying around from the beginning, and has ridden around the course a time or ten. But his fascination with this sport that frustrates most is all his own, and he plays it not because he’s trying to be good, or beat another player, but because he loves it.
When someone loves something they can’t not do it. Come rain or shine, there is nothing that makes him much happier than a flower pot full of golf balls and his clubs out in their backyard. If it takes his pudgy little fingers five tries to set the ball just so on the clump of grass that acts as an ad hoc tee, well then so be it.
It is going to be so fun to watch where the love of this game takes him, even if that’s only ever in his own back yard.
