My Dad

Like many girls out there, my dad is my hero and always will be. I’ve always wanted to be like my dad since I was little. He wore his hat backward, I wore mine the same way. He was a professional golfer, I took up golf and played in college. The connection my dad and I had grew stronger by taking up a sport that he loved so much.

Since I was 2 my dad used to take me to work with him at the golf course. While he would be teaching lessons and giving instructions, I used the practice facility as my playground. The bunkers were my sandbox and the hitting mats were my jungle gym. My dad’s coworkers got to know me well and one of them even made me a set of clubs. They were far too big and stood taller than I did, but that didn’t stop me from carrying them around.

Once the workday was over, my dad would sit me on his lap in the ball picker at the range and we would drive around and pick up every ball. He would then spend the last hour of sunlight teaching me how to swing a golf club.

After my dad decided to retire from being a golf professional, I stopped playing. I would occasionally go to the course with him when he would go, but it was nothing serious. It wasn’t until the year before my freshman year of high school that my dad and I started playing a lot of golf together.

The summer before my freshman year, he would bring me to the range early in the morning and give me a lesson. We would play a round of golf and then he would go to work. I would spend the rest of the day at the course hitting balls until my hands blistered, trying to get good enough to beat him. After work he would come back to the course, we would play another round, and we would play for a quarter a hole. If I won a hole, I paid him, if he won a hole he would pay me and so on.

I started off my summer in debt to my dad, and by doing this he pushed me to work harder and to get better. Eventually, I started beating him on some holes and started to win some of my quarters back. However, it wasn’t until the night before school started that I finally beat him.

I expected his competitive side to come out and for him to be disappointed that he lost, but instead he was happier losing than I’ve ever seen him look from winning. He was so proud that I worked hard and finally achieved my goals.

My dad and I continue to play many rounds of golf over the summers, and sometimes even still play for quarters. Sometimes he still beats me, sometimes I beat him, but nothing will beat the time we spend together and the connection we were able to build through a sport.