Dec 12

Golf Course

One cool evening, when I was nine or ten, me and my sisters and my parents were driving in our little white SAAB along Blue Course Drive towards our home on Storch Road.Photo 140

I remember the dark blue of the sky as the sun was nearing the end of it’s evening show. We were listening to music, my sisters and I singing along as we always did. I can’t remember the song right now, but it was most likely James Taylor, The Beatles, or Amy Grants newest album. The sunroof was open letting the fresh end-of-summer air into the small car and tousling our hair into fragrant knots.

Being a “planner” at heart, I was probably thinking about what I was going to do when I got back home, planning the rest of the evenings events for myself, and liking what I’d decided. 

I wasn’t thinking about the golf course out the left-hand side of the car.

My dad pulled off the side of the road and parked. I’m sure a collective whine came up from all of us, wondering what he was doing.

Why are we stopping?

We’re supposed to go home.

We need to get on with the evening…go to the next event so that we can go onto something else, and then something else.

That was the plan and this sudden stop on the side of the road wasn’t a part of it.

“Come on,” my dad said, opening the door and stepping out. “I want to show you something.”

We followed him across the street to the golf course, and then onto the green near one of the holes. 

“Take off your shoes and socks,” he said smiling.

We watched as he took off his and stepped onto the grass.

I’m sure we sighed, thinking the sooner we get this over with the sooner we’d leave. So we did the same–slipping out of our shoes and pulling off our socks.

Each of us girls stepped barefoot onto the short cut grass and smiled. We smiled at the cool feel of the grass on our feet and in between our toes. It was a wonderful, magical feeling that I never knew existed before.

We’d passed by that green by the hole on the side of the road maybe a thousand times before. Never once did imagine that the grass was so even and so short and so soft all at the same time.

Now, twenty years later, I still never pass a golf course without thinking of that night. I never pass the manicured lawn and not remember that cool feeling on my feet, the night that was interrupted by something wonderful and beautiful.

And isn’t that what life is? Filled with interruptions of our plans, filled with the unexpected things that aren’t written in our day planners or on the calendar of our minds.

Interruptions seem a nuisance to me, but really, I’ve found that if I stop and get out—those interruptions are really like a golf course in the evening with my family, walking barefoot on the crisp grass and realizing that life is made of moments like those.

It is made up of interruptions.

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