Back when the earth was new and dinosaurs roamed the steaming landscape I worked for a large international corporation. This corporation was headquartered in Chicago but I worked at the Texas facility. I had to go to Chicago every few months to receive an honorable award or be threatened with unemployment....depending on the then current construction market in my area. I was an operations manager and had no control over the construction status in Texas or the surrounding states but I still got blamed if it was bad. It was a good career but it wasn't a great career.
On one of my treks to Chicago I was told I was to play in a golf tournament after a planned conference. I was already assigned a slot in the tournament and was instructed to bring my clubs on the trip. Some people might get excited about this. Some people might beam with pride for being invited to the annual managers' gold tournament. None of those people would be me. I had never played a game of golf in my life. I told the CEO and the CFO they had made a mistake. They told me corporate officers never make mistakes. I would be there for the conference and then stay over the weekend for the tournament. Actually, since the CFO was a recently transported German, I was told, "Roos, you vill play golf and you vill like it!" I have dreaded my trips to Chicago many times over the years for various reasons. I dreaded it because I knew it would be boring. I dreaded it because I might have to make a presentation. But I had never dreaded a trip because of a game of golf.
The conference was held very early in March at a beautiful country club outside the city. The week went by in a blur and on Friday afternoon all my lucky coworkers got to head to O'Hare for their flights home. I had to hang around for a stinking golf tournament. I whined to anyone who would listen that night. I begged to be replaced with someone who knew how to hold a golf club. I got no mercy from anyone left at the country club because they all loved golf. I went to my room that night dreading the next day.
I woke early that Saturday morning and left my room for breakfast. As I walked into the reception area and looked out those massive windows all I could see was snow. An early spring storm had dumped several inches of snow on the city.....and the golf course. Those who discovered it with me were so disappointed. I was thrilled by it all. I ate a huge breakfast that morning...with great gusto! The CFO came in, sat down beside me, and asked if I had prayed for snow. I told him I hadn't and I tried to act disappointed. He saw right though me. He sipped his coffee and sighed. Then he said, "Roos, you MUST learn to play golf. It is a gentleman's sport and you vill be expected to play in the future. Go home now and learn to play golf! Yah?"
And now, the rest of the story....
I told my son Cody about my experience and he agreed. I needed to learn to play golf. He volunteered to teach me. He told me to buy an inexpensive set of clubs and we would hit the local driving range. My old pal Scott Brown fixed me up with a used set of clubs he had found at a garage sale. A big $35 investment kind of riled me but it was for my career after all. Cody and I went to the driving range that next afternoon. After showing me how to tee up and hold the club he suggested I hit a few balls to get the feel. I was a natural. I hit that ball at least thirty feet on my first swing. Unfortunately I missed the ball on my second swing and whacked the rubber with all my strength. I heard a small crack but figured it must have been my spine. On the third swing I got a solid hit and watched the ball as it arched into the sky. I also watched the head of my club arch off beautifully to the right of us. It landed with a whack right in the middle of a group of seasoned golfers. I started to go after it when Cody grabbed my arm and said, "Dad, just let it go." He also said something about my choice of golf clubs but we won't go there. After a couple of nights at the range, Cody said I was doing well enough to actually play a real game at a real golf course. We scheduled the following Saturday morning for my debut.
Cody chose a little 3-par, nine hole course close to our house. He picked me up at 6:30 that morning. I didn't understand going out that early but it soon became evident. When we teed up at seven a.m. we were the only players on the course. I guess Cody was a little worried for other golfers. I had a great time and was wishing I had learned to play years earlier. I told Cody I was excited about becoming a serious golfer. It was about this time that I sliced a drive off to the right and watched in horror as the ball streaked over into a resident's patio, knocking items off the table and bouncing off walls. I started to go after it when Cody said, "Dad, just let it go!" I tried to explain to him that I needed to go after it because it was the only ball I had. He insisted I leave it. He gave me another ball and on the next green I over-compensated and sliced the ball hard to the left. Cody started yelling, "FORE! FORE!" to the ground crew who were about to receive that ball but they didn't listen. Finally he yelled "QUATRO! QUATRO!"....and they looked up in time to dodge the little white missle coming their way. Cody decided we had played enough golf. As we walked out to the car with Cody's clubs and the only club of mine he allowed me to bring he said, "Dad, about your dream to become a serious golfer....I suggest you let it go." So I did....
Friday, July 31, 2020
Saturday, July 18, 2020
Ah, the "Good Old Days"...
This time of isolation has been trying on the best of us...meaning me. This time of isolation has been tough on me. When it was first announced I thought to myself, "Cool! I now have an excuse for not going anywhere or talking to anybody!" How was I to know how old it would get? Now I know...
I've tried to come up with constructive activities and for a while Debbie and I used our time wisely catching up on projects in our yard. You know, like removing the massive back flowerbed, bringing in dirt and sod to place. Things like building retaining walls and raising the drop off at the back of our property so I don't fall anymore. Typical stuff any healthy thirty-something could easily handle. It's a bit harder for us sixty, soon to be seventy-somethings. We weren't able to finish before the hot weather set in so now we can look out every day and be reminded of our failures and procrastinations. Oh well.
I also thought this would be a great time to spend working on unfinished projects in my wood shop. This reminded me of another procrastination of mine. Every summer I promise myself I will add air-conditioning to my shop before the next summer. Yeah right, however I did make sure I got the heater bought before next winter. I got it in June. It's really in the way now. I can't work out there. It's too hot. I tried to go out early one morning to work and had to come back in. It's about this time every year I begin to hate Texas.
Every dedicated writer I know is thrilled to have this uninterrupted time to spend churning out great stories, poems, articles....I had to make myself come in here this morning to write. I don't know why. I love to write. I just don't have anything to say. The "pandemic" we're enduring now did make me think of the old days and how easy it was to live and how hard it was to catch each others' germs. As soon as I thought about this a flood of memories came to me. Acting fast, I grabbed my laptop, opened it, uh...checked e-mail, looked at Facebook for a few minutes, ran through the few scales I can remember on my trumpet, strummed my guitar til my fingers hurt and tried once again to play Dueling Banjos on my banjo. I realized I hadn't played my blues harmonica for a while because it makes me sad so I looked around for it, remembered I had hidden it from my grandson, Carter, and after searching realized I hid it from myself as well. I guess I should write.
Actually, this particular memory came to me the other day as I passed the beautiful Colleyville sports complex a mile or so from our house. We've gone there over the years to watch our grandkids make us proud but now they sit empty. It's a sad thing to see. I thought back on the city ball parks we had down the street from us while growing up in Hurst. They were never empty. If an organized game wasn't going on, there would be a pick up game in process, or maybe a golfer or two would be practicing their drive in one of the outfields. During little league season all of us five kids would follow mama down to the ball park in the evenings to watch a game or two. It is a wonderful memory. Just about everyone knew the person sitting next to them and most of the kids playing were friends from school, church, or the neighborhood. The ball parks ran along the creek that held so many memories for Glenn and me. If a game was boring we could wander down to the creek and catch crawdads or fish out coke bottles to turn in for two cents. This turned into a regular routine for us when we figured out some of our citizens were litter slobs and empty coke bottles were always plentiful. We would find enough for each of us to earn a nickle and carry them up to the snow cone stand / snack bar at the park. Five empty bottles would earn us each a snow cone, soft drink, or package of peanuts. Life was good.
I think back on those days. We never washed our hands after fishing around in the pond. We never washed our hands period from late May until early September. We were quick to share our goodies with our friends. No one was denied a bite or two of the snow cone. The soft drinks were passed to anyone needing a swig, and the peanuts were meant for everyone. I remember one day, the little brother of one of my friends had talked his mother into giving him a nickle for a snow cone. He had to have someone hold him up to the window to buy it and as he walked back down to the bleachers he grinned from ear to ear over his giant lime snow cone....until he tripped. It was heartbreaking to watch his face go from pure joy to surprise to horror as his big old snow cone hit the dirt. I couldn't stand it. My bottle fishing had been especially successful that night so I was flush. I jumped up with the plan of buying that little fella a new cone but as I got closer I realized his cone was still pretty much intact on the ground. I scooped up all I could with my pond encrusted fingers and patted the snow back into the paper cone for him. I wasn't able to wipe away the dirt clinging to it but I told him he could easily lick it clean. He was a happy boy and I felt like a saint. I get slightly nauseous now thinking back on the germs I handed him but as far as I know he survived.
I realize my good old days weren't everyones' good old day. History tells us there were some pretty grim things going on back then, but I truly hope everyone has their own bank of memories of "the good old days".
I've tried to come up with constructive activities and for a while Debbie and I used our time wisely catching up on projects in our yard. You know, like removing the massive back flowerbed, bringing in dirt and sod to place. Things like building retaining walls and raising the drop off at the back of our property so I don't fall anymore. Typical stuff any healthy thirty-something could easily handle. It's a bit harder for us sixty, soon to be seventy-somethings. We weren't able to finish before the hot weather set in so now we can look out every day and be reminded of our failures and procrastinations. Oh well.
I also thought this would be a great time to spend working on unfinished projects in my wood shop. This reminded me of another procrastination of mine. Every summer I promise myself I will add air-conditioning to my shop before the next summer. Yeah right, however I did make sure I got the heater bought before next winter. I got it in June. It's really in the way now. I can't work out there. It's too hot. I tried to go out early one morning to work and had to come back in. It's about this time every year I begin to hate Texas.
Every dedicated writer I know is thrilled to have this uninterrupted time to spend churning out great stories, poems, articles....I had to make myself come in here this morning to write. I don't know why. I love to write. I just don't have anything to say. The "pandemic" we're enduring now did make me think of the old days and how easy it was to live and how hard it was to catch each others' germs. As soon as I thought about this a flood of memories came to me. Acting fast, I grabbed my laptop, opened it, uh...checked e-mail, looked at Facebook for a few minutes, ran through the few scales I can remember on my trumpet, strummed my guitar til my fingers hurt and tried once again to play Dueling Banjos on my banjo. I realized I hadn't played my blues harmonica for a while because it makes me sad so I looked around for it, remembered I had hidden it from my grandson, Carter, and after searching realized I hid it from myself as well. I guess I should write.
Actually, this particular memory came to me the other day as I passed the beautiful Colleyville sports complex a mile or so from our house. We've gone there over the years to watch our grandkids make us proud but now they sit empty. It's a sad thing to see. I thought back on the city ball parks we had down the street from us while growing up in Hurst. They were never empty. If an organized game wasn't going on, there would be a pick up game in process, or maybe a golfer or two would be practicing their drive in one of the outfields. During little league season all of us five kids would follow mama down to the ball park in the evenings to watch a game or two. It is a wonderful memory. Just about everyone knew the person sitting next to them and most of the kids playing were friends from school, church, or the neighborhood. The ball parks ran along the creek that held so many memories for Glenn and me. If a game was boring we could wander down to the creek and catch crawdads or fish out coke bottles to turn in for two cents. This turned into a regular routine for us when we figured out some of our citizens were litter slobs and empty coke bottles were always plentiful. We would find enough for each of us to earn a nickle and carry them up to the snow cone stand / snack bar at the park. Five empty bottles would earn us each a snow cone, soft drink, or package of peanuts. Life was good.
I think back on those days. We never washed our hands after fishing around in the pond. We never washed our hands period from late May until early September. We were quick to share our goodies with our friends. No one was denied a bite or two of the snow cone. The soft drinks were passed to anyone needing a swig, and the peanuts were meant for everyone. I remember one day, the little brother of one of my friends had talked his mother into giving him a nickle for a snow cone. He had to have someone hold him up to the window to buy it and as he walked back down to the bleachers he grinned from ear to ear over his giant lime snow cone....until he tripped. It was heartbreaking to watch his face go from pure joy to surprise to horror as his big old snow cone hit the dirt. I couldn't stand it. My bottle fishing had been especially successful that night so I was flush. I jumped up with the plan of buying that little fella a new cone but as I got closer I realized his cone was still pretty much intact on the ground. I scooped up all I could with my pond encrusted fingers and patted the snow back into the paper cone for him. I wasn't able to wipe away the dirt clinging to it but I told him he could easily lick it clean. He was a happy boy and I felt like a saint. I get slightly nauseous now thinking back on the germs I handed him but as far as I know he survived.
I realize my good old days weren't everyones' good old day. History tells us there were some pretty grim things going on back then, but I truly hope everyone has their own bank of memories of "the good old days".
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