What if It Doesn’t Come Back

If a Major League Baseball player sees his average dip to about .220 when he’s thirty-five years old, his fans will wonder if he’s washed up.

The twenty-five year old guy doesn’t have to worry about such questions. For him, it’s just a slump that he’ll get over. 

His abilities will come back.

The 35-year old?

There are questions.

Thought of all this on Monday morning after playing golf on Sunday.

My right arm was tight, and two fingers and a thumb were pins and needles.

“That’s new,” I thought.

I pinched the tendon at my elbow and the tingling eased a little.

Feet to the floor, and my left knee buckled a little.

“Fun.”

Which, I know, “it’ll come back.”

But I thought about it a little…

…there will come a day when…

…like the older player…

…it won’t come back.

My father-in-law loved to golf, and he was pretty good at it. He got a brand new driver at his retirement ceremony, and was really happy about it.

He’s 89 years old now, and every once in a while he’ll ask me about my round.

I can see in his eyes that he misses being able to play, but it’s always worth it because he will tell a story or two about a ball he hit, or a round where he rolled the ball in from a long way away.

By the end of the day, and following a few long walks on the sites, I had worked out most of the kinks.

Guess, I’m back.

This time.