Editors note: This is the second installment of a multi-part series on our summer road trip to NJ. They are not in sequential order. Some of this will be akin to eye wateringly boring home movies. Yeah, I just made a new adverb. Anyway, you’ve been warned.
I may have mentioned before that Frank can be a bit of a ball buster when he’s playing golf. It wasn’t going to be a problem on the vacation be cause I would be playing golf without Frank. Or so I thought.
One night the gang went out for ice cream. I stayed at the house for some quiet time. While out they found a place called Pirate Island Golf, a mini-golf joint. Or as Frank calls it Minataur Golf. Not sure why but this particular pronunciation tickles Grammy to no end.
Anyway, Mrs. Frank’s Place thought it would be a good idea if I took Frank down there myself, just me and him. It was two blocks away, sounded like fun, why not.
Why not indeed.
First of all, it was 20 freaking dollars. That’s what I pay back in Knoxville to play on a real golf course, minus all the chirping from my 4 year old.
When we get to the second hole Frank says his club is too long and can he have a shorter one. I’m all empathizing. I know what it’s like to play a foreign course without you own sticks. I don’t want to run back to the front cause it would absolutely freaking kill me if people behind us then got in front of us. And yeah I’m like this on a real golf course too. But saints be praised, the little shack has a side window that opens to the third tee box. So I stick my face in, literally 4.2 feet from the putters and ask for the shortest one they have.
“Yes, but you have to come around front.”
“Yes, you have to come around front.”
(well WTH) – said in my head… I think.
I get to the front.
“Sorry security cameras are only up front.”
What. What the world is she blathering about? Then it hits me, she has to hand me the club in view of the camera.
“You think I want to steal this rubber stick with piece of crappy rubber glued on the end of it?”
Ok then. Back to the golf.
Even with the shorter putter Frank was struggling a bit. So I mistakenly offered a little help. It was quickly rebuffed and rebuked with a stern “I can do it myself!”
Ok then. Back to the golf.
Next hole I drop the pencil and scorecard while Frank is on the tee. I look down then look up. He had already hit. I don’t see his ball.
“Ahh Frank. Where is your ball? Did you hit it over the side?”
“Frank! Where is your ball!”
“It’s in the hole daddy.” Said with the attitude of, “Well Stevie Wonder, had you been paying attention instead of playing tidily winks with the pencil you would have witnessed my hole in one.”
“It’s in the hole daddy.” He runs to the flag, reaches his little grimy mitt in the cup and pulls out his ball. Crap, this is gonna cost me. “Your turn daddy. See if you can hit it in the hole.” Not even close. The laughter that erupted from Frank’s belly could probably be heard in France. “You didn’t make it daddy. Mine went in the hole, but yours is way over there.”
We get to the next tee and I’ll I hear is, “Let me show you how to do it daddy.” And when I don’t make a hole in one, “You need to try harder daddy.”
Gonna be a long back nine.
The fun didn’t end there. After the 18th hole we end up back at the shack with the high security system. Instead of handing your ball back, you put it in this Plinko like thing. (look it up) The ball bounces around on the pegs as it makes it’s way to the bottom. If it goes in the middle slot you get a free game. It didn’t appear like anything happened if it missed the middle slot.
Frank is standing in front of the thing putting his ball and mine into the game. I’m over his left shoulder. He was supposed to get the blast of water in the face not me. But since he’s no taller than a munchkin, or a hobbit for you younger folk, the water went right over his head and hit me in the face. And since he put both balls in at the same time and both missed, I got two blasts of water in rapid succession before I knew what was happening.
Had Frank not been there my response may have been slightly different. But I was oh so glad to give the good folk of Avalon NJ a hearty chuckle.
Frank, well he was laughing so hard he tooted.
Love that kid.