OUR
REGULAR GAME NO. 6
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The
older I get, the more I think about my childhood and how it compares to my
children’s childhood. For
instance, I disdained my parents’ music, which was Glenn Miller, Benny
Goodman, and Frank Sinatra, in favor of the Beatles and Eric
Clapton. I still love the
Beatles and Eric Clapton, but the last two CDs I bought (which in my time
were called record albums) were by Sinatra and Tony Bennett, so I guess
I’ve come around to their ways. My
own kids, on the other hand, have already embraced the Beatles and Eric
Clapton, not to mention the Rolling Stones, B.B. King, and virtually every
other artist whose music I’ve bought and played in the house and in my
car. When I was a kid, I
would never have dreamed of listening to music made before I was born —
it just wasn’t relevant if it came about before my time.
My kids, though, aren’t bothered in the least by the fact that
the music they’re listening to was made as much as twenty or twenty-five
years before they were even a gleam in my eye.
There are other striking differences, too, of course.
I was never late for the dinner table because I had to finish a
Nintendo game or was busy with my e-mail.
If it didn’t involve a ball, our neighborhood gang didn’t play
it.
But one important thing hasn’t changed, and that’s golf between
a father and his son. I
learned the game from my dad, and some of my fondest memories are of the
two of us playing golf together. I
still remember the simple rules he taught me about the game.
For instance, on how to swing slowly: “Don’t be in a hurry,
son, the ball’s not gonna move until you hit it.”
Or his simple advice on how to make a full turn away from the ball:
“Just drag the club back 18 inches on the takeaway.”
Try it: I promise, you’ll make a full turn and hit the ball a lot
better.
At least that part of life hasn’t changed.
I now share time on the golf course with my youngest son, Dylan,
who’s all of 12 years old. He’s
got a natural talent for the game, and I’ve finally learned to let him
play without messing with his swing. I just tell him to hit the ball where
he wants it to go, and the little bugger does it quite well.
So Dylan and I are duplicating some of the great memories that my
own father and I made. It’s a wonderful thing, and I don’t think there’s any
other game that lends itself to that kind of camaderie as golf. I mean, Bret Favre’s dad can’t exactly suit up and play
in a Packers game with his son, now, can he?
The key, of course, is handicapping.
By giving Dylan the right amount of strokes — which by the way
grows smaller with each passing year — we have some great matches.
His enthusiasm is typical of a twelve-year-old — unvarnished and
pure. And, God bless him,
it’s catching. I’m having
more fun, too.
I tell you, there’s nothing quite like playing those last few
holes in the twilight, the two of us together, ribbing each other about
our bad shots and knowing that, at that moment, neither one of us would
ever want to be anywhere else.
Thank you, Dylan, for giving your old man more fun than you’ll
ever know — at least until you do this one day with your son.
For the Regular Game, this is Mike Veron.
About the Author
J. Michael Veron is the acclaimed author of The
Greatest Player Who Never Lived and The
Greatest Course That Never Was. His third novel, tentatively titled
The Caddie, is scheduled for release in the spring of 2002.
Mike's work has earned him the title of "master
of fiction" from USA Today, and Travel and Leisure Golf Magazine
has called him "The
John Grisham of Golf." In addition, the New York Times hailed The
Greatest Player as "Golf's
Literary Rookie of the Year," and the Seattle Times ranked The
Greatest Player as second on its all-time list of "Five Wonderful
Golf Books." At one time,
The Greatest Player and The
Greatest Course were the first and third best-selling sports fiction
in the country.
Please contact us
for more information on Mike and his work.
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