Friday, April 12, 2013

The Masters

It's Masters weekend.

And by Masters, I'm talking golf, not my swim class.

Before Doug came into my life, golf was a completely foreign activity that I knew very little about. I know that it involved sticks (clubs), balls, special shirts and funky shorts. I thought rich people did business on the course and regular folk drank themselves into obnoxious golf cart drivers. From what I saw on television, everyone had to whisper so as not to disturb the person with the stick as they prepared to hit the ball. It seemed like a lot of fuss and nonsense to me.

After Doug came into my life, some of those ideas were forced to change. Doug golfs. He golfs well. He loves it and speaks of it in ways that made me (slowly) change my thinking. He talks about the history of the game. He tells me tales of the courses he has visited and tells me stories of the players he watches on television.

Slowly I went from standing with my arms crossed not wanting to hear about it to mildly intrigued to actually being able to hold a conversation. I've spent lazy afternoons watching golf games and learning all sorts of things that turned a foreign activity into something I actually understand. Heck, I can even name more than a handful of players (and not just Mr. Tiger Woods).

This weekend is Masters weekend. The biggest golf weekend in our house. Which means that we don't book very much on Saturday and Sunday afternoon so that we can watch the drama unfold. We'll make pizza and eat it in the living room (gasp!). I'll ask tons of questions. Doug will tell me the story of the two times he was able to go to the Masters. And, by the end, I'll be invested enough to care who wins.

This summer, I'm moving beyond the television to the actual golf course. I've decided to give golf an honest to goodness try. I did try it once, years ago, but I went into it expecting not to like it and I didn't. This time, I'm going into it expecting it to be really hard. I'm expecting to be really frustrated by it. I'm expected to feel very embarrassed by my performance.

The difference is that I'm also expecting that I might actually kinda like it too.

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