Fore! by guess blogger Jane

It feels like Dad’s been gone a long time now.  I hate that sentence.  But the passage of time has helped accept that awful reality, and there is a beauty in embracing memories of Dad now.  For a long time it was just so painful that I had to make a conscious decision about whether I could stand to think about it and relive the inevitable pain and grief and loss that came with looking at pictures, telling stories, thinking about Dad.  The answer was almost always yes, but I/we paid a price each time. Now, three years later, I do still get weepy but I embrace the memories, revel in the stories, relish passing them on to my kids.  And am hungry for more.

And yesterday I hit the jackpot.

To backtrack:

This spring mom asked if anyone wanted to take Dad’s golf clubs.  Since I sometimes drive out there and have kids who could potentially be interested some day, I said I’d love them.  So when I went out there this summer, Dad’s clubs came back with me and have been in our garage the past few weeks.  Our son, Noah, is about the same size as my dad, maybe a couple inches taller, so I knew the clubs would work well for him, but Noah is not a big fan of ball sports.  As a kid he tried them all but as we worked our way through flag football, soccer, basketball and t-ball it became apparent that he was a)not interested and b)his skill set ran more along the lines of internal balance versus external spatial sports.  Snowboarding he likes, gymnastics he enjoyed, but he’s found a sweet spot with rock climbing, which he enjoys and excels in.   Anyway, he took a golf lesson or two during the days of relentless sports sampling, and he liked it ok but it never went beyond that. 

So yesterday my kids had the day off and at about 1pm this conversation with Doug took place:

 Doug: “guess what Noah just called to ask me?”

Me: “What?”

Doug: “Can I borrow your golf clubs?”

Me:  “WHAT????”  “Wait, he should use my dad’s!!!!”

Doug:  “That’s what I told him. He has them.”

Turns out a couple of Noah’s friends like to golf and do it fairly regularly and asked him if he’d like to come and he, to our surprise, said sure.  Now the younger, less confident Noah would have steered clear of any activity with potential to embarrass, but Noah’s grown a lot this summer and is trying to branch out and try new things and is, wonderfully, realizing it doesn’t matter what people think or if you look foolish sometimes – it’s more fun to do than to not do.  It’s awesome to watch this transition occur.    So off he went, with his grandfather’s very nice clubs in tow.

When I went to pick him up that afternoon and drop him off at his girlfriend’s house he said, “I found Jidoo’s glasses in the golf bag” and it hit me hard.  This is Dad’s bag, with Dad’s stuff in it, and he would be so delighted that Noah’s using it, and he’s gone.  So I shed a few tears but mostly I loved it. 

When I got home, I brought the bag inside and searched through every pocket and had that rare, amazing encounter when I felt Joe Corey right there in the kitchen with me.

Here’s what I found:

The requisite ID tag with “Dr Joe Corey” written out in that 70’s royal blue Dymo label maker. 

 In the pockets:

  Some  tissues

A golf glove

An unmarked scorecard

A million tees and SGC markers

A few golf balls (apparently there were a lot more when Noah started)

  

  Dad’s glasses

And then I hit the mother load. I literally gasped when I saw it and cried as I went through it:

One very well worn and utterly fabulous

drawstring pouch,  of the Holy Cross Crusaders variety.

 

Inside, I found:

One after-bite stick for those pesky skeeters on the golf course.

One half roll of rolaids.

One tiny retractable knife.  I stared at that one for a while, knowing that that thing must have a specific purpose to be in that bag. I’ve determined that that tiny retractable blade is perfect to cut through the seal of a new box of golf balls.

One pen.

Eleven golf pencils.

And my favorite item, a tiny manual pencil sharpener, because who wants to, nay who can write those tiny golf scores on that tiny scorecard with a dull pencil?

SO utterly Dad.  So utterly awesome.  I miss that guy.  I loved having him in my kitchen yesterday. 

Thanks for the visit, Dad.    Jane