So he threw his clubs on the ground.
Complained that he wasn’t strong enough. . .or smart enough to hit the ball. . . the club was stupid and too long.
This is the boy who couldn’t hear mom when she said that it takes many swings that totally miss the ball and many more that hit the ball which lands inches from the tee.
This is the boy who said that mom was wrong and, for angry emphasis, jumped on his driver. With both feet.
Mom took the bag of clubs. . .zipped up the top of the bag. . .and put them by her. No angry words. . .no trying to convince the boy otherwise.
Words were like the wind—blowing through the trees .
He pouted. He moved from bench to putting green to bench.
Eventually he went back to the bag. Picked out a club. Moved back to his hitting spot. Asked Dad to show him how to hit.
And then a smack—the ball catching air and sailing down the range hill, bouncing three times before coming to rest.
A shout: “DID YOU SEE THAT?”
Hmmm. . .that was pretty good.
I mean, the picking back up the club and swinging. It isn’t always about hitting the ball.