Fathers, sons and golf

Today’s post is bittersweet. It’s about fathers and sons. More specifically, it’s about me and my Dad. By the time you read this, a few days will have passed since I wrote it.

My Dad passed away early this morning; a few days shy of his 81st birthday. He was suffering from dementia. It was hard seeing him slip away into the darkness of the disease. He was an intelligent man with a sharp wit and mind, but the dementia robbed him of both.

My Dad introduced me to golf at age seven. My first post, The Shot, talks about how it happened. It was an accidental introduction, not planned or forced. It wasn’t because my Dad wanted to share his love of the game with me. At that time, golf was something he enjoyed every now and then, but he didn’t love it. Golf happened because my Dad was being a father to his son.

My Dad wasn’t much of a golfer all those years ago. He played a few times a year for fun, but he didn’t have a love for it. He watched golf on TV sometimes, often when Arnold Palmer was charging up a leaderboard at a major. But he knew enough and liked the game enough to agree to serve as a high school golf coach for a season while the regular coach was on sabbatical. Since my Mom and he both worked, I could have gone to the babysitter’s house where my younger brother spent his days, or I could meet him with the golf team and head to the course. He decided it would be a good idea for me to go with him and the team. A father and his son spending time together.

The first day I rode around in the cart with him as he checked on his players and played an occasional hole. The second day I asked if I could hit a shot. It was instantaneous love, and I have been playing golf ever since. Because of my sudden love of the game, my Dad fell in love with it as well.

This is the 50th year since I hit that shot. Golf has been and continues to be an important part of my life. I have been a PGA Professional, mini tour player and TPI instructor. My Dad has been my biggest fan along the way. We joined a country club just to be able to play together more. Myrtle Beach became a favorite family vacation. He would suddenly appear at a golf tournament I was playing in cheering me on. I love to play the game as much as when I first hit the shot, and I have my Dad to thank for it.

There are a lot of golf memories with my Dad. I will keep those to myself for the time being, but we played a lot of golf together over 50 years. He was never better than a 15-handicap, but we loved to play together as often as we could. As he got older, we didn’t get to play as often as we would have liked. Physically, it started to become more difficult for him, but, when we did play, it was always fun filled with laughter and good-natured ribbing.

Golf wasn’t the only thing he loved. He loved his New York teams and Penn State football. He loved the theater and going to the symphony. He loved reading spy and police novels. He loved good food no matter if it was from some greasy spoon diner or a 5-star restaurant. He loved life and experiencing new things.

Most importantly, he loved his family. Family always came first. My Mom was the love of his life. He made sure her dream of seeing the Rose Parade in person came true before brain cancer took her life. He sat at her side for hours on end as she slipped away, and a piece of him died along with her. Most men are lucky enough to find one love, but he was lucky enough to find love again with a second amazing woman. He shared 16 years with her. She stayed at his side as he slipped into the darkness of dementia and eventually died.

As I write this, I realize he didn’t give me golf. We gave golf to each other. A common bond between a father and his son. The golf course became a sanctuary where we could come together and put aside life for a while. I am forever grateful for it. This morning, I wish we had one more round together.

His life was life well lived. While I am sad, I am also happy as he is rejoicing with his Heavenly family and reunited with my Mom.

Thank you, Dad. I love you and will miss you until we meet again in Heaven. We’ll tee it up again then.

As always, be thankful when you play. Be grateful for the people in your life. Love your family.