When I was living in the United States (9 years old), my dad often brought us to the driving range. Since dad liked the game so much, he bought a junior set for us brothers to share.
As time goes by, we landed back in Malaysia, the hobby fades away. I seriously think it’s a dumb game. To me, it’s like playing fetch with a dog, except we use golf balls and the one that needs to do the fetching, is us. But dad earnestly continued playing. I bet it’s the business network he’s after. ..and I’m still searching the thrill of playing golf.
Occasionally, I do shoot some balls once every full moon. Releasing this bottled up feelings within, more like venting my anger in every drive.
“So, how did it go?”, dad asked as I entered the living room.
“I got a few blisters on my hand, but I’ll manage”, I replied.
“Distance?”, he asked again.
“Not far.” keeping my ego down.
“In yards?”, he likes technical details, just like this son of his.
“75% *home run…”
“Since when golf is baseball?” in disbelief he asked. I later explained to dad how my drive swerved to the right and went over the fence, like a home run. Roughly about 180-200 yards (not that far really).
via: my flickr
A few friends did invite me to join them in tackling real golf courses, but I’m a shy guy, plus, I still think golf is a game of fetch. (It should be played with dogs, not human.)
ps: But I do love the sound ‘ting’ everytime the club hits the ball.