I’ll have to admit, I was an Ironworker by trade and always thought of golf
as a game for sissies. I’m sorry if you’re an avid golfer but that’s the way
I felt. Next thing I know, my oldest son takes up golf. Oh, no, I thought, where
did I miss out on his upbringing?
He played for about eight or ten years and all the time, telling his younger
brother and I how great the game was and how much he enjoyed it. Every time
he invited us to play or even brought up the subject, he was in for a lot of
ridicule. The next thing that happened was that he finally got his brother to
go and play a game with him. That did it and my younger son was hooked.
You can’t possibly know what that did to a guy with an Ironworker’s outlook
on life. Well, after about another two years, the boys were playing every Tuesday
after work and I was missing their companionship. I figured that the only way
I would be able to spend some time with them was to belly up to the pro shop
and try the game out for myself.
You probably already know the end of the story. I became a stark raving maniac
over the game. Now I’m calling them up on other days like Saturday and saying
“Hey, let’s go to the new Championship course here in Tahoe and smack some
I’ve got my own set of golf clubs, shoes and all the trimmings and I’m having
a blast at a game that I wouldn’t have given a chance if it wasn’t for my two
sons defying my bias against the game. It’s kind of funny how life takes these
little turns, as we grow older, isn’t it?