Gratitude and golf

Ever since the school year began in late August, I have spent most of my mornings playing golf before heading off to work. I’m lucky enough to have an executive course about five minutes from my school, where I can play nine holes in about an hour if I move quickly and keep most of my shots on the fairway.

These days, I arrive around 6:45, when it’s admittedly a little dark, but by the time I walk off the course about an hour later, the sun has risen, the fog has burned off, and the day has begun.

It’s an incredible way to begin the day. I strap the golf bag to my back and strive for excellence while simultaneously exercising, spending time in nature, and basking in the beauty of an autumn morning. I’ve borne witness to the changing of the season, day by day, tree by tree. I’ve seen deer, coyotes, and foxes. The same hawk soars over my head every morning. Yesterday, an egret flew about ten feet over my head as I lined up a shot, startling me before I caught a glimpse of its beauty.

I say hello to the parents of a former student who walk their dog daily. I chat with a yoga practitioner who sometimes uses a fairway to stretch and pose. Occasionally play with a fellow early riser. And when I return to the parking lot, I almost always spend a moment talking with two older men who are just preparing to head out as I change shoes for work.

I cannot describe how happy and fulfilled I feel when I walk into my school every day half an hour before the bell.

I’ll be sad when it gets too dark or cold to continue this routine.

But almost every time I play golf, including these early mornings spent playing alone, I think about my friend Tom, who ignored my disparaging remarks about the game 18 years ago and convinced me to play. He found a set of irons at a yard sale, purchased them for $10. and tossed them into the back of my truck on a snowy December afternoon, tied together by a red ribbon.

Upon finding them, I called Tom and asked, “Did you put golf clubs in my truck?”

“I don’t know?” he said. “Did I?”

I hung up on him and called my friend, Jeff. “Did you throw golf clubs into my truck?” I asked.

Without coordinating with Tom, he said, “I don’t know. Did I?”

Jerks.

But not entirely so, because that set of irons, along with a putter I purchased for $1, were my ticket to nearly two decades of memories, hilarity, and joy. I am constantly consumed with gratitude for Tom’s willingness to turn my stubbornness and stupidity into obsession and love.

I can’t image the last two decades without golf.

The one billion memories I’ve made on the golf course. The friends with whom I’ve spent countless hours talking, laughing, and competing. The locations around the world where I have played the game alongside some of my closest buddies. The deep and meaningful conversations I’ve shared with friends as we’ve walked the fairways. The stupid jokes. The ridiculous pranks. The errant shots. The blessed routines. That bird I once killed midflight with a tee shot. The occasional moments of glory.

All thanks to Tom, who opened a door and invited me to walk through.

I’ve also used that first set of irons to hook three other people on golf, passing along the gift Tom gave me years ago. All three love the game today, and I still play with them often.

Those clubs are currently in the hands of a new person I hope to hook soon.

Almost every time I play golf, I feel immense gratitude to Tom for this gift – one of the best ever given to me.

How often does someone offer you a gift that changes your life for the better in such a profound way?

On these blessed early morning rounds, playing as the sun rises and the dew sparkles off the grass, he is in my thoughts more than ever.