I have a peculiar relationship with golf.
By that I mean as a young man, I really do enjoy it. I love playing, and I can even watch it on lazy weekend afternoons. That's relatively uncommon when you view the golf demographics.
Finally, to be honest, I'm really not all that good at it. Sometime this weekend you might catch me hacking away at Cottonwood Creek. But I realized last Sunday why it's so great that this game has a hold on me: time with dad.
I should count myself very lucky, because my father was open enough in his sporting mind to take up an enjoyment of soccer despite having never played when he was growing up in a small North Texas town. There's no doubt we've shared countless bonds over that sport I love so much, but golf is different. It is the true father-son game, and nothing can match it.
Last Sunday after a nice long holiday weekend, I joined my dad, aunt and uncle for a game at the local course in my hometown, Sherman, Texas. Trips like this are common, especially when I find time to drive down for a weekend. This time was different.
The front nine has never been very kind to me, but this time it was. I can't recall ever coming within 10 strokes of my dad on any nine holes. So when we counted up the score card and I was one behind with a 45, my lowest score ever through nine, I nearly leapt out of my shoes.
Of course you always have that one bad hole, and mine came on the back nine (trees are not my friend), but that was essentially it. After a bogey on 18, I picked up my ball to discover a first; it was the same exact ball I had used on the first tee. Not a single one was lost that round.