Learning the Game

When I was  about twelve years old, I tried my hand at playing golf on a “real course.”  The only person willing to take me on as a golf student was my Grandmother, a relatively new golfer herself and in love with the game.  My first course was in Rangely, Maine at Mingo Springs.  At the time golf was $25 for 18 holes walking.  My Grandparents were both members and played there nearly every day.    My clubs were hand me downs, Service Merchandise specials.  I wasn't quite tall enough yet to really be able to swing the driver, so the largest club I carried was a 5-wood.  Eight strokes was the highest score my Grandmother would let me take; even back then I remember she was always there to make sure I counted every stroke.  I was never really any good to begin with, as the extent of my training up until then had been trying to swing a Medicus® club (not counting hitting rocks into the woods of course, see previous post).  Unfortunately in the long run, this  probably hurt me more because I quickly learned to manipulate the Medicus® to keep it from bending.  For many years, especially in the beginning, I never saw the left-hand side of the course except from a distance.  I was a “banana baller” from the start.  I could slice a putter I was so bad.  

Back in those days the fashion of a twelve-year-old was not exactly on the “golf approved list.”  Luckily in Maine things were a bit more lax.  My pants were always hanging off my butt with some sort of patterned boxer-short showing.  I would have to keep pulling my pants up before each swing so they didn't fall down to my knees during the back swing.  I remember playing once with a really nice couple-friend of my Grandmother’s, the gentleman was some sort of political figure.  I tried incredibly hard to be polite all day and show my best golf etiquette.  I played horribly as usual, but the folks we played with were very patient with me.  A couple of weeks later, my Grandmother told me that the woman we played with came over to visit; she walked right up to my Grandmother with her pants pulled part-way down doing the waddle and said, "Who do I look like?"  I guess “old folks” do have a sense of humor!

Cheers to all!