Just Be Happy

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We played golf on Saturday instead of Sunday this week…

…which was weird….

…but we all swung it pretty well.

I haven’t been feeling well (for some damn reason) but I’ve never hit the ball further than I have this past month.

“Put it on my tombstone,” I told Pops.

“Yeah,” he laughed. “I’ll write, ‘He was really hitting it well.’”

But we also golfed behind a father-son team and I was a tad annoyed because the Dad was in a Trump 2024 hat. 

They were nice enough to us and didn’t even say anything when I hit the green from 200 out while they were still lining up their putts.

“Sorry!” I was yelling. “I didn’t think I could get it there.”

“You did! Almost hit me. Would’ve hurt for a minute,” the kid said.

He was laughing. 

He was happy. 

We watched him running across the fairway, across the green, and on the tee box,

There’s usually not a lot of running in golf.

He was just having fun.

And on one tee I was lining up my shot as the subject of abortion came up.

Our discussion grew animated and as I took my practice swing I had a stray thought:

“I don’t care to discuss it anymore. I just want to hit this straight.”

Because there wasn’t a damn thing that any of us was going to do to change or alter what the court or whatever any damn politician is going to do.

I hit the ball dead center and a long way.

I was happy.

My buddies gave me a fist bump for a good hit.

And my stray thought grew another:

“My only job is to be happy. Cancel out the noise. Live my life.”

There’s so much rage.

Feels like we are sitting on a powder keg.

I won’t be the one playing with matches.

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