"Try it again." Dad reached down and placed another ball in front of me. We were at the driving range and he was showing me how to hit a golf ball, perhaps just looking to have some fun daddy daughter time, maybe he hoped to turn me into a lover of golf like he was. Whatever the reason, we were there and I was trying and failing to hit a golf ball any sort of respectable distance. At the time, my ten-year-old mind would focus briefly on hitting the ball, then I'd glance longingly at the mini golf located next door, or wish we were doing the putting green across the street. The resort had lots of golf options to offer. of them all, the driving range was not one high on my list. The only thing the golf course had to offer someone like me was lots of green grass to wander over and beautiful ponds to sit and dream by.
So there I was, at the driving range, dad looking proud that I'm doing my best and giving encouragement with every ball I hit. I knew I was terrible but he kept going, "you can do it." "Your grip is perfect." "That was much further than the last ball." All in repeat cycle as I made my way through the thirty balls. Before I knew it I'd hit the last ball and I was so glad to be done. It had been an hour or so on the driving range but it was a tiny glimpse into the world of golf. The fun that my dad had remained foreign to me. It was good to spend some time with my dad during that vacation but I knew future golfing excursions would be limited just to the mini golf course. And that...was okay with me.
