Fore!

Many, many, many years ago, I used to go out with friends from time to time and play golf. By no means was I an amazing golfer but I wasn’t horrible. My biggest problem was that I didn’t really have the patience for the game.

One time we had gone out to a course to golf. The wind was ridiculous, it was hot, and I was not playing well at all. I can’t tell you what hole we were on, but I can tell you that I managed to hit the ball into a sand pit. I know they are usually called sand traps, but, people, this was a pit.

I climbed down into the pit, grumbling as I made my way over to my wayward ball. Amid catcalls from my friends not in the sand pit, I took a deep breath, lined up my shot and swung… and missed.

Glaring at the ball, I lined up again and swung at the irritating little round ball that mocked me. Once again, I missed. Didn’t even graze it.

Let’s just say by this point, I was not a happy person. Not even bothering to line up, I swung at the small demon ball. I missed. It was at this point I understand how someone can toss their golf club into a lake and walk away.

I didn’t even take a breath before I swung the golf club as hard as I possibly could but this time I connected. Sounds good, right?

You would be wrong. This tiny, white ball did a line drive right into the surrounding concrete barrier and headed back at me. I’m fairly certain it was homing in on me. I dropped to the ground, narrowly missing being whacked by the evil ball.

After picking myself up off the ground, I found my golf ball, lying on the other side of the sand pit with a large crack running down its’ center.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. Don’t tick off your golf ball. Or, maybe it was don’t hit your golf ball when you are madder than a wet hornet. Either way, I don’t play it that often anymore.

Saturday, we took Kiera out of town for a family day. We headed over to an arcade that also housed a mini golf course.

She was really excited about the whole day. We spent a little time playing games before grabbing our mini golf clubs and heading out to the course.

The golf course was fairly busy with a family of teenagers playing in front of us.

Kiera dropped her ball on the little rubber mat, lined up with the ball and swung with enough force to play baseball for the pros.

I couldn’t say anything as the little blue golf ball took flight. It cleared the family in front of us and landed on the green two holes over. Thankfully, Aaron managed to yell, “fore!” when her ball took flight, warning the people in our vicinity to look out.

The two families that missed being hit by her ball laughed and smiled as she ran to pick it up; not really understanding how close they came to being clobbered by my 8 year-old’s golf ball.

I’m not really sure the last time I heard the word, “fore” used on a mini golf course… but we used it twice that day. Both times that Kiera went up to bat… I mean, when she went to swing at her golf ball.

The child has an arm on her. It was an interesting time. We would move to a new hole, one of us would say the phrase, “Remember, hit the ball softly,” then we would take our turn and start all over again.

I’m thinking that golf might not be the best sport for the females in the McNeely household.

Rowonna McNeely works as the Communications Manager for the Brownwood Area Chamber of Commerce. She and her husband, Aaron are regular volunteers in the community, and have their hands full with their daughter, Kiera, along with three dogs and one cat.

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