32 Years Difference

My boy Sam loves golf, and while he’s not great at it, he loves every single swing of the club.

For the last couple of years he’s been telling me about his buddy, who he claimed was really good.

Today was the day.

Sam and Eric joined me and JC at my favorite course.

Golf isn’t a game where I’m interested in competing with anyone but myself, but I was looking forward to playing with the boys.

I hit the first ball down the middle - decent enough shot - and Eric pounded the ball about 50 yards further, but it was toying with the rough.

The ball was flying all around.

He put a ball within 14” on a par 3 and made the birdie putt.

I popped up a drive but hit a couple of good fairway shots and then dropped it within 6” of the cup from 140 yards out.

“Oh! The old dog can bark,” I heard Eric mention to Sam.

I can’t hit a ball 310 yards - A 28-year old kid can - I have to play my game with the slower swing, the aches and pains.

We were close enough score wise as we came down the stretch…

…even though we didn’t have an official score on the board, I figured he was up a couple.

On the 17th hole - another par 3 - he landed his tee shot within a foot of the cup.

Again.

He birdied those par 3’s - I bogied them both - lost by 4.

“You don’t play like you’re 60 years old,” he said.

I laughed.

“I’m happy that you have decades of playing in front of you,” I said. “You’re a good player.”

Looking forward to playing with them again.

“How’d Sam do?” Kathy asked.

“He has a great time out there,” I said. “He loves playing. That’s all that matters.”

One more round this weekend, tomorrow morning.

The old dog will really be barking.