A Golfing Tale

Inside the lodge at Project Patch Family Conference Center

Every year the President takes my colleagues and me on a team-building retreat. This year it was decided that we would go to a brand-new family retreat center near Goldendale, Washington. The purpose of the center is to bring in families that are starting to get into troubled waters, and to put them through experiences together that help them learn to interact in more constructive ways. But the center is also available for other retreats and seminars. We were the second group to use these beautiful new facilities.

After dinner on Sunday evening, we visited the Goldendale Observatory. That experience was its own creator of one-liners ("...and that's why we can proudly display the IDA logo"), for which you really had to be there to get it. But the touristy activities weren't done yet. The next morning, we set off as a group to play 9 holes of golf at the local Country Club.

Now, I must confess that I have never in my life gone golfing. My game is mini-golf, not the regular sort where you thwack the ball across a mile to the next green. I was dubious, but wisely recognized that this was an important bonding opportunity with colleagues that I must not miss.  Besides, there were children going, and it was going to be easy as we played "best ball," which means that everyone in a foursome hits the ball, and then the whole group moves to where the best ball has landed for their second hit.  I ought to be able to handle that, right?

We started with young Nick teeing off.  His form looked pretty good for a kid going into 1st grade this fall.

Katie, a junior high student, looked pretty good, as well.

Then I teed off--there's no picture of that one--and I'd be blazingly optimistic to say that it went more than 15 yards in the direction of the green. I couldn't even see the green, it was so far away.

Now there were experienced and adroit golfers among us. Specifically, my boss has the game down pat. Don't let the ball in front of him fool you. He was just doing a practice swing.

We wandered along from hole to hole, with me hitting my ball hither and yon, but neither hither nor yon in ways that led my group onto the green. Had it been solely up to me, every one would have been a par in 10.  It was getting hot. The sprinklers came on and we had to walk through them. My water bottle fell into the bottom of the golf bag, and I didn't want to let anyone know I'd lost it. It's not elegant to turn your golf bag upside down and shake everything out. To add insult to injury, I dragged my bag of clubs on wheels across the green, not realizing that golfers would think me gauche and rude. We stopped to let group after group play through; otherwise, we would have had a whole string of angry retirees behind us, waiting and waiting and waiting.

On this ninth hole I asked my colleague, Glenn, to record my prowess on camera. I was looking across those weeds at a large pond between me and the final green. Let me just admit right up front that I was mighty relieved that we were finally at the end of our game after spending nearly four hours on the golf course.

I predicted that I would just throw away a golf ball, trying to hit it across that pond. None of my hits had done much better than my first. And take a gander at that form! I really should have respected myself as a mini-golfer and stayed away from the big boys' game.

This was my first hit, and as you can see, it rolled about two feet. They made me try again.  Sure enough, off it flew, about 10 yards away and down into the bullrushes.

Luckily, Mrs. President is an intrepid woman. She waded into the bullrushes and swished about in there for a minute or so, coming up triumphantly with my little white orb, neither of them seeming the worse for the wear.

And so ended my career as a big game golfer. I shall not go again, except as a caddy for someone who golfs really, really fast. After all, one must be humble enough to recognize one's weaknesses, and re-employ oneself in more useful ways.