It's been awhile since I posted. I was inspired by the incomparable Brigid to write a bit about my Dad.
I remember my first golf tournament. I was scared to death, no real clue about what I was going to do out there, or how to do it. I remember thinking that I was out of my league, out of my mind for being there, and just flat out of my element.
The tournament was out of town. My dad was self-employed at that time, so he could pretty much do as he pleased. He never missed a single sporting event that I participated in that I can recall.
Golf is a pretty solitary sport. Even though you are competing against others, you are really competing more against yourself. You are fighting your swing, trying to make it do what you want it to do. It's easy to get discouraged, to feel alone and helpless out there when your ball shanks off somewhere, and you have no one to blame but yourself.
Sounds terrible, doesn't it? I wonder what the heck I actually see in this stupid game? What the heck does that say about me? Anyway, I digress.
Somewhere about the fifth hole, I picked up on the fact that somebody was watching me. I couldn't quite figure out who, or where they were. This was different than being watched by the guys I was playing with. There was somebody out there looking specifically at ME, and I didn't know where they were.
Somewhere about the 9th hole, I caught a glimpse of somebody about 75 yards away, watching from behind a tree. They were taking great pains to keep out of sight. Not in a weird way, just trying to be unobtrusive.
I knew it was my dad. Even though I couldn't see him, I recognized his silhouette. I was even more certain when I saw the faint puff of bluish smoke form his ever-present cigarette.
He was there for the rest of the tournament. I did horribly, but I played better after I knew he was there.
He was watching me, offering support in a different sort of way. He knew that I was out there alone, and he knew that I had to be. He knew that he couldn't help me, but he wanted to be there just the same.
He never told me he was there. When my round ended, he headed home. He even pretended that he wasn't there. And to this day, I haven't told him I knew. I think he does know, though. It's a Dad thing.
It wasn't the last time he was out there, clandestinely.
Every thing I've ever done, I knew that Dad was somewhere behind me, offering quiet support and strength. He knew I had to do it alone, but wanted me to know that he was back there, ready to do what he could to help. He also knew that failure taught more than success, and that I had to take hard knocks just like everybody else.
4 comments:
True gems, both your post and the man who inspired it. Speaking volumes through his presence alone. What a valuable lesson he taught you that you can tuck away for when your little one is a teenager.
Nothing like a good dad. When I got sick of working for others and decided to strike out on my own, he helped me with advice and a bit of money instead of telling me to pawn everything I own to do it...same as when I was 6 and wanted to play baseball and got got me a glove and a ball and played catch with me.
We still talk once or twice a week even though he's over a thousand miles away and he still offers gentle support without doing things for me and tells me stories about how he learned the same lessons I'm learning now and I'll be 40 soon. Don't know what I'll do when he isn't around anymore. He's not allowed to not be around. I've decided that, but then he's given me tools so hopefully I'll do OK when he isn't around to bounce ideas off of and I'll just hope he looks down and is proud of what he sees.
Nothing like a good dad.
Mom's are cool too but dads are more understanding when you do something that gets the volunteer fire department out to the familial home as a child because you were playing with stuff you didn't understand as well as you thought you did.
Nice story, Cool Dad,
Tom
Thank you for sharing your Dad, and with that, yourself.
Hope all of your family that's near is with you this holiday.
Thanks. My dad's one of a kind, that's for sure. He's inspired in a lot of ways. And I think one of the best ways is simply how he's lived his life, and the absolute loyalty he showed my mom through her terminal illness.
I hope I can become half the man that he is.
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