The Nine Lessons (7 page)
“That she’s been going through a rough time.”
“Exactly.”
“And? What does that have to do with golf?”
He looked at me with a slight sadness in his eyes, as if he was disappointed that I wasn’t understanding what he was trying to tell me. With a sigh he repeated the words I’d heard so many times before. “Golf is life, lad. Who else do you know who is going through a rough spell these days?”
“You mean Erin? With the pregnancy?”
He tilted his head to the side and winked. “Erin may not be out here swinging clubs with you, but she is your partner all the same. Marriage is a partnership in every sense of the word. Today Delores made it through the first nine holes only because her partner—
you
—were there encouraging her, helping her, and lifting her when she needed it. I’m sure you also showed great patience and understanding when she struggled, because that’s what good golf partners do. With your spouse, if you support and encourage each other, and always put the other person first, then your marriage will be able to survive whatever turbulence may come—even these nine months while Erin isn’t exactly herself all the time. Just work every single day to be the best golf partner you can be, and you’ll be just fine. Got it?” A small smile played at the corner of his mouth.
I studied my father for several long moments. At some level it bothered me that for the second month in a row he’d managed to teach me something other than golf while on the golf course, and he didn’t even have to play a single hole to do it. But I really couldn’t get upset, because he was right. It wasn’t me that was dealing with the pains and struggles of pregnancy, it was Erin, and I needed to be more compassionate to help her wade through it. “Was there even an emergency at the restaurant today?” I asked finally.
He shook his head and pointed at the TV. “I’ve been sitting here watching an LPGA event in Maui. After I recruited Delores to play I had her run ahead while I used the restroom. From there I called the restaurant and told them to call me back in fifteen minutes so I’d have an easy out.” He smiled smugly, obviously proud that his plan had worked out so well.
Delores showed up just then and sat down in the empty chair beside my father.
“So are we going back out for another nine holes?” she asked. “I’m bound and determined to shoot less than twelve on at least one hole today.”
“You two go on without me,” I said before my father could reply. “I’ve got another golf partner at home who needs some attention.” London stiffened in his seat. I could only guess that he did not want to be left alone on the course with Delores. “Besides,” I continued, seizing on the opportunity to make my father feel uncomfortable, “London was just saying that you two could really use some
alone
time on the course.” I winked at Delores and she beamed with delight. London’s face went as white as winter snow. I looked directly at him once more before leaving. Leaning in close so only he could hear I whispered, “If golf is life, then live it.”
If you watch a game, it’s fun. If you play at it, it’s recreation. If you work at it, it’s golf.
—Bob Hope
M
ay 19, 1973
—I’ve been called many things in my life, but never a louse… until today. Suffice it to say that my father-in-law, Oswald Call, is less than enamored with the father of his future grandchild. I can’t tell what he despises more—the fact that I want to be a professional golfer (he says golf is a hobby, not a career, and that if I am to be a respectable father I need to get a “real” job), or that my marriage to his daughter has hindered her educational pursuits. Regardless of which, emotions are running high here in the Call residence. Jessalynn and I are sharing her old bedroom, which only has a twin bed, so I get the floor at night in order to give her the space she needs to sleep comfortably. The morning sickness seems to last all day and all night, which is taking a definite toll on her (and everyone else in the house). She still seems to have some lingering doubts about her readiness to be a mom, but I suppose that’s probably natural. Perhaps she’ll be more enthusiastic about the whole thing once she’s feeling better. For now, though, it is enough that she simply tries to put on a smile between her vomiting episodes.
I have been looking for jobs in the area, but the golf season is still just ramping up here in Vermont. I’d like to get on at one of the local courses, but none of them are hiring until demand picks up a little more. I can’t wait to dust the cobwebs off of my swing… I haven’t played nearly enough golf since leaving sunny Southern California. But my heart is here with my beautiful wife, without regret.
June 13, 1973—Employment! The Burlington Country Club decided this morning that my background, skills, and “charming foreign accent” are exactly what they need to head up their private skills classes (which target those patrons who have little skill, but big bucks). I will be providing one-on-one tutorials to help teach these wealthy duffers the fundamentals of golf. I can’t wait! It doesn’t pay much in terms of salary, but I’m told the tips can be very healthy. If nothing else, I should be able to earn enough money to help put food on the table and to pay for Jessalynn’s doctor visits, which are adding up quickly. Of course, the biggest perk of my job is that it comes with unlimited rounds of golf during my off hours!
June 25, 1973—Fate, karma, or divine intervention—whichever one happened to be working for me today—is deserving of my greatest thanks. A family showed up at the country club this morning; they are neither club members nor local residents of Burlington, but are vacationers passing through New England on their way to Montreal, Quebec. The father asked that I work on fundamentals with his two sons while he and his wife played eighteen holes. The boys are young, but are already very skilled with golf clubs (as I’m sure my own children will be someday!). After lunch I was showing the boys how to properly rotate their hips during the downswing, and unbeknownst to me their father had just finished his round and was watching us from nearby.
After seeing me hit a few balls, he came and introduced himself as Vincent Montgomery. I immediately recognized the name. He is probably unknown to most people, but in the upper echelon of golf he is considered one of the top professional swing coaches in the WORLD!! He has trained some of the highest-paid golfers on the PGA tour. He asked me to hit a few more balls, after which he invited me to play nine holes with him early tomorrow morning before work. Tomorrow morning I’m playing golf with bloody Vincent Montgomery!!!
June 26, 1973—I played a beautiful round this morning. Vincent seemed genuinely impressed. He took down my phone number and address and said he would like to contact me in the future about various professional development opportunities that he is aware of for high-caliber golfers. I can hardly believe that Mr. Montgomery has taken an interest in me! His insights will definitely be an asset in my quest for PGA membership.
August 21, 1973—This afternoon I was contacted at work by my mother-in-law, informing me that she’d rushed Jessalynn to the hospital following some severe abdominal pains. I joined her at the hospital as quickly as I could. While I was there, the doctors performed a litany of tests on her, including blood work, urine analysis, and another thorough sonogram. After all was said and done, we were relieved to learn that it was nothing immediately serious. The abdominal pain, in combination with unusually high amounts of protein in Jess’s urine, points toward preeclampsia, which the doctors described as a pregnancy-induced form of high blood pressure. It’s treatable, but as a precaution they have put Jessalynn on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy. Jess isn’t too keen on the inconvenience of it all, but she’s thankful that all is well with the baby. I’m counting my blessings, too, knowing that they are both going to be okay.
September 1, 1973—The baby is kicking regularly these days, and with full force—I like to think that he is in there practicing his golf swing. It is thrilling to think that our own little miracle is growing and developing beneath Jessalynn’s expanding waistline. She has warmed up greatly to motherhood as she has felt the baby move. She told me last night that when she first learned that she was pregnant her heart broke because she knew it would disrupt all her hopes and dreams. Now she says her heart melts to think that she will have the privilege of being a mother to the special little child that is joining our family.
November 25, 1973—A letter arrived today from none other than Vincent Montgomery! I was surprised to get it, because I had not heard anything further from him following our round of golf back in June. My hand is shaking even as I write this, because he has offered to take me on personally as his student. He is confident that I have what it takes to compete as a professional player. Mr. Montgomery would like me to join him in Georgia at the start of the new year to embark on what he says will be a very intensive year of training and traveling to various amateur events around the country. Our primary practice course will be the famed Augusta National! He has advised that the days will be long, and that my family would be better off remaining in Vermont so as not to be a distraction. Essentially, I won’t be able to see Jessalynn or our new child for the better part of a year, maybe even two.