Getting let down gently

For the past 10 years the golfing relationship between my son and I has passed through several phases.

In the earliest days, he wasn't old enough to go out on the course, so we would spend time on the range. I wouldn't get to hit as many balls as I'd like, because it was mostly about watching him and making sure he didn't get in the way of other guys practicing. He'd hit a few, maybe a small bag at the most, grow bored with it, and off we'd go to do something else.

Once he reached the long-anticipated age where he was allowed out on the course there was still more baby-sitting then golf, but it was good to be out there with him, and with his older sister, too. As on the range, I learned pretty quickly I wasn't there to work on my game, but just to spend time with them. To make sure the two of them scurried along, not holding up anybody behind us. There was some tolerance for playing in a bunker, or rolling down a hill, or a quick dash to a creek to look for fish and bugs. We might play four out of nine holes completely, taking shortcuts or a break on all the rest.

It wasn't always so idyllic, but it was usually pretty good. I made the conscious decision that we'd have fun on those outings, first and foremost. If they were ever to take up the game, Sean and his sister needed to associate fun with a trip out on the course, rather than something to be endured or suffered. So we had carts, rather walking and carrying bags, and candy bars. We scored imaginatively, and were generous with mulligans. And on days we did walk and carry bags, I invariably slung them all on my back at some point, more beast of burden than father.

While his sister, who is 4 years older, began to take on other interests, Sean slowly morphed into a good golfing companion. Over time, he became the one person I'd most like to get out and play with. I'll never forget the day I realized he was no different than any other fanatical golfer. He'd hit a bad tee shot into the woods on our 3rd hole, and I could hear him muttering to himself while he walked over there to find his ball. At 10 or 11 years old, he was not really different from any other middle-aged golfer berating himself for a poorly executed shot. It was a real hoot to watch.

Which is not to say there weren't some trying moments. What followed next was his bad temper period. As his game grew so did his expectations. A poor shot could spin him off into a tantrum that was so amazingly similar to those displayed by Tiger Woods you'd think the latter served as chief choreographer. These would frequently last for two or three holes, bad scores would pile up, and then he'd finally wrestle himself back to earth and start playing better again. These were hardly pleasant times, and on a couple of occasions forced me to banish him from the course. I never really let up on holding him accountable for his behavior, yet for what seemed like a long while things weren't really getting any better. It wasn't necessarily fun, a period to be endured, and one that thankfully came to an end before he turned 15.

Last season's phase was a competitive one. He had developed an ability to beat me fairly regularly in straight up stroke play, but I didn't necessarily need a superb day and he didn't necessarily need a horrible day for me to come out on top. We were both playing to ~4 handicaps, shooting our fair number of rounds in the 70's or in the 80's. And so our rounds together were fun. We never really did much in the way of bets. It was far more important to come home for dinner with bragging before his mother and my wife, an Oedipal competition of sorts, I guess.

But this season, I'm no longer any real threat to Sean. We've played a lot together over the past month or so, benefiting from uncommonly good weather. The way several of those rounds have been scheduled has been kinda cute. I might get an email, for example, from one of the better players at the club asking if Sean and I could join them for a round. It is Sean they want to play with, at the cost of me tagging along. But I don't mind.

But these rounds prove the tables have been turned, and what I mostly enjoy about them is the chance to admire his game up close. His ball striking, shot-making and how his game management has improved. He just hits it so well, so far and so high with a simple fluid swing. It is just a treat to see. There are no more tantrums. He gives me tips now, instead of the other way. Just solid, steady play. He is playing to something a bit better than a 2 handicap while I'm still stuck on my 4, scoring just enough mid-70's days to stay there.

There is a vast difference in skill between a 2 and a 4 handicapper. I can only beat him now if I have what will prove to be one of my best rounds of the season, and only if he plays pretty mediocre. For example, I shot a very solid 75 last weekend. But he bested me by a stroke. Far more often than not, his mediocre rounds will top my typical day at the course. And he has become a 2 the old fashioned way, by not yet having broken par. When that starts happening, I will have no chance whatsoever of ever beating him again.

That long phase, lasting several years from the very beginning when he first displayed interest, season upon season, of a son emulating his dad hoping that he will someday play better golf than his father, has finally come and achieved full closure.

And I can tell you the precise moment that transition occurred.

Last night he came into my room, asking apologetically if it was alright if he didn't play with me in our round scheduled for Saturday.

It turns out he had just received a text message inviting him to play, instead, in a group with three of our club champions. Our top players. He had a chance for a better Saturday game than he could get with me. I'd be lying if I denied a touch of disappointment at missing chance to be out there and tee it up with him again. But this was not one of those, "Honor your commitments, son" moments. He needs to be out there with those guys, rather than with me.

In one sense, Sean is in the same phase he's been in his entire golfing life, getting out there and playing rounds with guys he needs to learn how to beat. Having finally crested the molehill of beating his father, he is now eager to tackle the larger peaks that have appeared on the horizon.

Sean said, "Maybe we can do it some other time this weekend? How about Friday?"

A guy can hope a better option doesn't arise between now and then.