Jim asked me recently if I would like to play golf sometime this summer with Jeff Swearingen and his wife, and I immediately said yes. Yes, however, I quickly added, only if we could rent a golf cart.
I haven’t played much golf in years, haven’t really thought about playing golf in years, although for some odd reason I bought a set of women’s golf clubs at the St. Matthew garage sale last spring. But as soon as Jim brought up the idea of playing golf, the thought of driving around in a golf cart popped into my head and all of a sudden I was grinning.
I’ve always had a bit of a love affair with golf carts!
My favorite Florida vacation spot is the Plantation on Amelia Island because we always rent a golf cart for the week and I get to spent my time cruising the byways of the resort. To this day, whenever I hear the Beatles singing about that Yellow Submarine, I’m immediately transported to Amelia Island and a long ago trip home from dinner with Leslie, Dennie and Amanda Novak, and me singing Yellow Submarine at the top of our lungs as we drove through the towering trees back to our condo.
When I think back on the golf experiences of my childhood, what I remember most is laughing my way around the Marshall golf course with Chris Bennett as we hit one wild shot after another. The best part was hopping into her dad’s golf cart and careening all over the fairway to find our wayward balls. Before we could even legally drive a car, we were pushing the pedal to the floor and speeding up and down what hills there were on that central Illinois course.
Although I love my old house in central Champaign with its big trees, brick streets, and own private boulevard, I’m always a bit envious of my friends who live on the outskirts of town on the edge of the country club golf course because most of them have golf carts parked in their garages.
Looking back, I think that my love affair with golf carts traces directly back to my dad. My dad was a gentle, unassuming man whose passions were my mother, his children, the Chicago White Sox, and golf, in that order. He wasn’t a man who asked a lot out of life or who needed a lot to be happy. My mother was devoted to him and until the day he died he thought himself the luckiest of men to have won her hand. My sister and I were relatively easy to raise. The White Sox were a continual disappointment, but there was always next year...
One of the best things about small towns is that there is very little distinction between the ‘haves’ and the ‘haves not quite so much.’ My family was definitely in the second group, but that didn’t stop my dad from joining a golf club. My dad grew up in Chicago and he spent much of his teenage years caddying for rich members of Chicago’s many country club golf courses. Marshall didn’t have a country club, but it did have a very nice nine hole golf course that was open to anyone who wanted to join for a very nominal fee. Dad may have saved his pennies all winter, but come opening day, he was there with his membership form and his driver!
And that membership wasn’t the only thing Dad saved his pennies for. Shortly after I was out of high school, Dad, notoriously tight with a dollar, bought his first golf cart. (Could he have known about some of the wild rides I took with Chris?) He bought the cart used, but to him it was pristine, perfect. Chris’s dad was a lawyer, and he drove a Cadillac to the golf course while my dad drove a Chevy. But, up until the day Cas died, Dad and Cas Bennett parked their golf carts side by side in the Cart Barn.
I don’t really know what my dad thought about all those hours and days and years that he drove that golf cart up and down the fairways of the Marshall golf course. I don’t know if he was remembering all the miles he used to walk carrying someone else’s golf bag on his back. I don’t know if he was just savoring the wind in his hair and the sun on his face. I don’t know if he was remembering where he had come from or just was enjoying where he had ended up. I don’t know if he was proud or satisfied. But I do know that he was happy.
As am I, when I remember my dad, and when I get behind the wheel of a golf cart and push the pedal to the floor!
No comments:
Post a Comment