Day One:
Both my boys teed off with the same siblings they have played with on the first day of play in past GA PGA tournaments and one behind the other (thanks to the sibling policy). Their mom and I chatted about how convenient it is to be able to hover between the two, pulling far back if one starts “showin’ up”. The mom is a true Southern belle – beautiful, blonde, vivacious and if I hang with her on these tournament days I’m sure to learn a new Southern phrase every time. She made it clear that there is no ‘g’ on the end of ‘showin’ and the phrase is used – with a big smile, which is the Southern way because people are watching, when the child is melting down. Like – you better stop it right now, you’re showin’ up!
The South is a warm, embracing region and we are deep in the south of Georgia amidst ancient Oaks, scrappy Pines and flowering Dogwoods. The morning is mild and the heat is yet to settle. It’s quiet and calm. Cicada chirps fill the gaps – the perfect golfing morning.
Max and I get a cart together and are driving around watching – something we have never done before (usually being on the bag). I quickly find it is not as peaceful as what I thought it would be. I am subject to a constant commentary:
Bear’s right leg is moving on his drive.
That’s a difficult chip, he’ll never get it close.
Rob needs to remember to take his putter with him so he doesn’t walk back to his bag when he gets on the green. Just poor planning.
Rob miss-hit his drive. He’s now so into the wind that I don’t think he can get on the green from there.
And all I want to do is watch the turtles balancing on their mossy logs, listen to the beetles, look for stray golf balls when I need to and be a supportive presence if I can.
Even with us all watching Rob manages to lose a ball and goes back to roughly the same spot as his original shot, drops and then flies his 3 wood over the green. Rob looks distraught. Max is annoyed with his attitude. Annoyed that he is not walking with purpose or looking like he is having fun.
Max doesn’t look like he is having fun either – and the brow furrows further as he watches Bear through the tree line put his drive into the water on the next hole. The next hole sees Rob possibly lose his ball in the water too – from our perch on the cart path we can’t see it, it’s a turquoise blue color and completely camouflaged. Max is now annoyed by the ball color and the fact that Rob is walking so slowly to his ball.
He has got to pick up the pace. Does he remember that this is a lay-up hole or is he going to plunge a 3 wood into the creek. I don’t think he is ready to play no-caddy tournaments!
And now I’m all tense and haven’t heard the birds singing in a while.
The ball clears the creek and lands somewhere – we can’t see it of course. Max hops out to help look for it.
Rob: I miss hit it because a fly landed in my eye.
Max relays the excuse to me and confirms that it is not a bad thing in tournament play for a player to find an excuse for a bad shot. It’s comforting for his mental state to be able to blame it on an external factor. Of course in a practice session it’s another story – no excuses – the player must take full responsibility for all his shots.
Personally I can watch Rob do anything without getting too annoyed. The one child I struggle with watching is the one on the hole in front of us with all the expectation, investment and focus rolled up into that almost 6 foot sinewy frame. I can read him like a book – his body language, head tilt, gait …… I never even need to know the score to know how he’s doing. A lot of the time I don’t like being so intuitive!
Rob tells Max that he does not want him to watch the back nine. I think that’s fine and probably better. As much as we think that we know them so well and can read their stances, swing plane and mind from a distance – they’re watching us too and see the frown lines and clenched jaw and I’m sure we stress them out too. But these are unknowns, mere speculations.
We don’t watch the whole of hole nine but see, from the pro-shop where we’re buying a snack, Rob take four shots out of a greenside bunker! He then blades it out, way over the green, and chunks the return!
Max is furious. I’ve got to watch him. The one hole I don’t watch he has a complete mental breakdown. He certainly wouldn’t have hit 9 shots on a hole if I’m watching and definitely not if I caddied for him!
Well I don’t know, it’s happened plenty of times with me on the bag!
I don’t like to watch Bear. I do like to watch Rob. I don’t worry too much about Rob’s performance but can get a little obsessed with Bear’s. Bear believes his future lies in golf. I imagine Rob’s will be in something completely different. Perhaps I care too much in some respects and too little in others.
We amuse ourselves going forward with speculating on where Rob’s blue ball lands – he still hasn’t changed it out and it remains infuriatingly camouflaged. But any levity is brief. Max is not a great golf cart companion. He does not appreciate the black-faced squirrels or gently breeze. He is a restless pacer and relentless commentator and I’m the wrong audience for lectures on timing, tempo and swing sequence. Thoughts and speculations, conjecture and wonderings on the other hand – I can ramble on forever along those lines. Long, meandering blog posts full of them – and still never come to a conclusion on the effect of our presence on our children’s mental stability, what the hell went wrong with that drive, will Rob ever be prepared when he finally ambles up to take the shot, do I really bring the bad mojo ……..? Probably a good thing in the end – there’s lots of golf to play, opportunities for ‘showing up’ with a smile and a ‘g’ and stories yet to write.
Day Two:
Early, misty morning golf with long shadows, eager birds and a hint of a chill. Perfect backdrop for the spectator alone in a golf cart. On the playing field, however, heavy dew and hungry bugs are not necessarily a player’s delight- especially when no fairway can be found on the first hole of the day.
At the end of hole 2 – mercifully kept on the fairway this time – an official told Rob’s group to speed up and play ready golf. A good call. If Rob is disorganized and slow, the boys he is grouped with are right there with him. Perhaps that’s why they’re all in one of the bottom groups (but not the bottom) in the field. Perhaps deliberate, quick, intentional play is a hallmark of a successful golfer.
The playing group is friendly and supportive. Play continues pleasantly enough until towards the end of the front nine: he’s on the green for a birdie putt and sends it way past the hole. He pulls his hat off and waves it around furiously. The return putt stops on the lip and the hat is flung wildly around again. The other mom spectator looks at me for my reaction. I shrug and smile. It happens. Inside I’m like: Stop Showin’ Up Brother!
Early in the back nine, as with the front, he finds himself again floundering in the dense, damp rough.
I want you to go and not watch me anymore!
But I’m being such a nice, quiet, supportive presence!
I want you to go!
I guess it’s easier to blame me. If it makes him feel better, I’ll take it.
At the end of the hole he says I can do whatever I want. So I stay.
He proceeded to put his next shot in the water and fell apart on the next hole too, even though he drove the fairway beautifully.
Maybe I should go?
At this point he is looking fatigued and defeated. Rob’s score never really means too much to me. At this age it is all about gaining experience and I know that puberty, in the next year or two, changes everything – swing, timing, tempo, attitude and focus. So his scores are not really that important right now, although it does matter to me that he looks fatigued and defeated. Maybe he doesn’t get enough sleep? Maybe he should work out more? Although perhaps three triple bogeys are enough to sink the most stable of ships. And with a chunked drive off the tee (long time since he’s done that) this ship is probably going down. But when I see him down near the green he’s smiling.
Well I have figured out what I’m doing wrong with my irons. I’m hitting them too far in front of my stance!
Hmmm. I suspect he may have a chance at this game yet. Although such a notion requires us to advance on the wings of speculation and conjecture, perhaps together with Dumbeldore and Harry leave the firm foundation of fact and journey together through murky marshes into the thickets of wildest guesswork.
