As y’all might be aware I am a golfing enthusiast. A phanatic. A worshiper to say the least. Thankfully Frank has picked up the bug. He’s not completely infected yet, but the strain of the virus grows stronger every day. As we were driving home after our last outing, he actually said to no one in-particular, “I just love the golf course.”
Yeah I cried. Not man tears either. I had to choke back blubbering, eye blinding tears.
But, alas, our summer of golf is slowly coming to an end. Not for me, mind you, but for Frank. After a week at the Jersey Shore Frank will start his final year of Pre-school. That may actually free me up to play some more. I love school.
Frank has learned a lot on the golf course this summer. His swing has evolved from an angry woodsman all hopped up on cocaine, to a novice golfer determined to hit the ball past his old man. His main goal is bragging rights. He’s a trash talker, that one. It was a rough 18 holes if I ever chunked one and he managed to hit his tee shot farther than mine. 18 holes of trash talking is the reward for coming up short against Frank. I mean he’ll talk your ear off anyway, but when he’s hit it by you there is a little extra sting in the “Hey daddy I hit mine farther than yours” line. And Frank is a no-look trash talker. He is talking smack while he’s walking down the fairway looking to where he hit his ball. There is just something disconcerting about a 4 year old strolling along not looking at you while making fun of you the whole time. I can’t wait till his little sister hits it past him for the first time.
She already has the bug.
Frank didn’t pick up a club until he was two. Anne Marie has been carrying around that putter in the picture on the left for the last month. She’s only 16 months old now. Man I can’t wait.
Still, I don’t know where he gets it from, all this trash talking. While it may be a surprise to people that know me, I am not a trash talker as it relates to sports I actually participate in, especially golf. I just don’t play that way. Never have. I don’t compete against other guys when I play, I just play. You might say it’s for the love of the game, if you’ll allow me that tired phrase. So I am a bit baffled as to where he gets this bravado from. Probably his mother.
Anyway, as the pros compete in the PGA Championship, the last major championship of the year, thus signaling the start of the end of the the golf and summer season, here is a look back at the summer of Frank – on the golf course.
Of course every good golf season starts off with…
Ok get me to the course.
Putting in the work.
Well, this is the actual payoff.
Cause nothing says it’s been a good day of golf like hotdogs and chips in the clubhouse. Thanks Miss Marianne.
It’s been a good summer. We played a lot of golf. We ate a lot of hotdogs.
Not sure how we can improve on that.