bigskyirish
Well-known member
On February 28, we had an unseasonably warm day here. It was a bit windy, but it was in the upper 60s, so my dad and I headed out for our first round of 2016. For most of the round, everything was going great. I was +3 through 13, which, while not mind-blowing, was fairly decent for not having played since early November and there were some birdie holes coming up. My dad wasn't scoring quite as well, but he was hitting the ball much better than he was at the end of last year. On #14, everything changed. After hitting our approaches, and as we were walking up to the green, he had a massive heart attack without any warning at all. We were talking golf one second and he was completely unconscious the next. I performed CPR for about 25 minutes before the paramedics arrived, and they continued both at the course and on the way to the hospital. But he never showed any signs of recovery, and the doctor called the time of death shortly after he arrived. As anyone who knew him would attest, going quickly and painlessly on the golf course is just what he would have wanted, though not so soon. He was 63.
My dad wasn't much of an internet message board person, so he never got to enjoy this great community, but if he would have realized how much of a family it is, he would have loved it. Above all, my dad was a family man. Just about everything he did was so that my siblings and I could have a better life. I was the oldest and when my sister and I left for college within a year of each other, he gave up his country club membership. He never once complained, but I know it was especially hard for him. His grandfather helped found the current version of the club in the mid-50s when a prior version burned down and the only other club in town at the time wouldn't accept him because of his Puerto Rican heritage. So my dad grew up playing there, and turned into a pretty good player. He qualified for the USGA Junior Championship in 1970, and played to a 1-handicap for most of my childhood. For as long as I can remember, he played every Saturday and Sunday morning with the same group, which included his own brother. So walking away couldn't have been simple or easy, because golf was a huge part of his life and always had been. But the only inkling of regret I ever heard from him was that he felt bad not for himself, but because my younger brother wouldn't get to play there as long as the rest of us had.
It was no surprise that my dad gravitated toward golf. He loved tradition. He still lived in the same house where he grew up, and my son sleeps in the same bunk beds that he shared with his brothers in the 1950s and 60s because he wouldn't let my mom get rid of them. My aunt tried to change the stuffing recipe at Thanksgiving one year, and he still made fun of her more than a decade later. He took the same vacation every year in Yellowstone Park, and made sure to have a drink in the same spots at the Old Faithful Lodge and Lake Hotel every time. He was a die hard Notre Dame. He wasn't usually all that optimistic about the Irish's chances of winning (rightfully so for the last 20 years or so), but he loved them enough that my brother and I decided when we were young that we wanted to go there for college. And when we both got accepted, he made it happen somehow.
For quite a few years, my dad played only sporadically, mainly for financial reasons. But I moved back to my hometown in 2008, and we slowly began playing more and more. About two years ago, he joined a different club in town--a hybrid, public/private course with 36 holes--and started falling in love with the game all over again. For the last few years, he and I played together every chance we had. We'd sneak out on nice afternoons when we both should have been working, and we tried to get in at least one round a week when the weather permitted (sometimes even when it didn't). We played in our first tournament together as a team last year and all he talked about since then was playing more often and winning it this year. He wasn't a 1-handicap any more, but he was still as competitive as they come. His best round was a 72 last year, which he shot after realizing that he was 6 strokes down to me with 4 to play. I finished bogey, bogey, par, par for 71, and he rattled off 3 straight birdies and lipped out at the last. In the end though, I think he was more happy about my 71 than he was about his 72. A few weeks later, I broke 70 for the first time and aside from things like weddings and grandchildren, I'm not sure I've ever seen him so proud. Secretly though, I think he was at least a little bit happy that his family record (68 at a much harder course in tournament conditions) was still safe.
More than anything else, he loved to be on the golf course. He would have played every day if life had allowed. He truly enjoyed everything about it. The game itself, the mechanics of the swing, the camaraderie of a regular group, the stories and drinks after a round, everything. On the day he passed away, we had a single pushing us the entire time even though we were stuck behind a fivesome. He wasn't hitting into us, but his approach shots were in the air when we were barely off the green, and he kept driving his cart right up next to us as we were teeing off, which was my dad's biggest pet peeve. As we walked off the 11th tee box, he turned to me and said, "you can tell them at my funeral that the cross I had to bear was always having a**holes in the group behind me." But he said it with a huge smile on his face. Because he even loved the things that irritated him on the golf course, just not always at the moment they were happening.
I've been struggling for the last 3+ weeks, especially when it comes to golf. My dad was not only my best friend, he was my playing partner. In the last 5 years, at least 90% of my rounds have been with my dad. It's going to be hard, but I can't quit playing. Not only would he kill me, but I know that he was ecstatic that my passion for the game has grown so much in the last few years. So my goal now is to become as good as I can be without neglecting my own family. It's going to be a huge stretch financially, but I'm going to try to join the club he had to quit all those years ago. Almost everyone I know who plays is a member, including my uncle, so it's the place I'll probably get out the most and it's the best course in town, which will help me improve. More than that though, I think he'd like the idea that my boys will grow up playing in the same place that both he and I grew up playing. Damn, I wish he'd be there to see it though.
My dad wasn't much of an internet message board person, so he never got to enjoy this great community, but if he would have realized how much of a family it is, he would have loved it. Above all, my dad was a family man. Just about everything he did was so that my siblings and I could have a better life. I was the oldest and when my sister and I left for college within a year of each other, he gave up his country club membership. He never once complained, but I know it was especially hard for him. His grandfather helped found the current version of the club in the mid-50s when a prior version burned down and the only other club in town at the time wouldn't accept him because of his Puerto Rican heritage. So my dad grew up playing there, and turned into a pretty good player. He qualified for the USGA Junior Championship in 1970, and played to a 1-handicap for most of my childhood. For as long as I can remember, he played every Saturday and Sunday morning with the same group, which included his own brother. So walking away couldn't have been simple or easy, because golf was a huge part of his life and always had been. But the only inkling of regret I ever heard from him was that he felt bad not for himself, but because my younger brother wouldn't get to play there as long as the rest of us had.
It was no surprise that my dad gravitated toward golf. He loved tradition. He still lived in the same house where he grew up, and my son sleeps in the same bunk beds that he shared with his brothers in the 1950s and 60s because he wouldn't let my mom get rid of them. My aunt tried to change the stuffing recipe at Thanksgiving one year, and he still made fun of her more than a decade later. He took the same vacation every year in Yellowstone Park, and made sure to have a drink in the same spots at the Old Faithful Lodge and Lake Hotel every time. He was a die hard Notre Dame. He wasn't usually all that optimistic about the Irish's chances of winning (rightfully so for the last 20 years or so), but he loved them enough that my brother and I decided when we were young that we wanted to go there for college. And when we both got accepted, he made it happen somehow.
For quite a few years, my dad played only sporadically, mainly for financial reasons. But I moved back to my hometown in 2008, and we slowly began playing more and more. About two years ago, he joined a different club in town--a hybrid, public/private course with 36 holes--and started falling in love with the game all over again. For the last few years, he and I played together every chance we had. We'd sneak out on nice afternoons when we both should have been working, and we tried to get in at least one round a week when the weather permitted (sometimes even when it didn't). We played in our first tournament together as a team last year and all he talked about since then was playing more often and winning it this year. He wasn't a 1-handicap any more, but he was still as competitive as they come. His best round was a 72 last year, which he shot after realizing that he was 6 strokes down to me with 4 to play. I finished bogey, bogey, par, par for 71, and he rattled off 3 straight birdies and lipped out at the last. In the end though, I think he was more happy about my 71 than he was about his 72. A few weeks later, I broke 70 for the first time and aside from things like weddings and grandchildren, I'm not sure I've ever seen him so proud. Secretly though, I think he was at least a little bit happy that his family record (68 at a much harder course in tournament conditions) was still safe.
More than anything else, he loved to be on the golf course. He would have played every day if life had allowed. He truly enjoyed everything about it. The game itself, the mechanics of the swing, the camaraderie of a regular group, the stories and drinks after a round, everything. On the day he passed away, we had a single pushing us the entire time even though we were stuck behind a fivesome. He wasn't hitting into us, but his approach shots were in the air when we were barely off the green, and he kept driving his cart right up next to us as we were teeing off, which was my dad's biggest pet peeve. As we walked off the 11th tee box, he turned to me and said, "you can tell them at my funeral that the cross I had to bear was always having a**holes in the group behind me." But he said it with a huge smile on his face. Because he even loved the things that irritated him on the golf course, just not always at the moment they were happening.
I've been struggling for the last 3+ weeks, especially when it comes to golf. My dad was not only my best friend, he was my playing partner. In the last 5 years, at least 90% of my rounds have been with my dad. It's going to be hard, but I can't quit playing. Not only would he kill me, but I know that he was ecstatic that my passion for the game has grown so much in the last few years. So my goal now is to become as good as I can be without neglecting my own family. It's going to be a huge stretch financially, but I'm going to try to join the club he had to quit all those years ago. Almost everyone I know who plays is a member, including my uncle, so it's the place I'll probably get out the most and it's the best course in town, which will help me improve. More than that though, I think he'd like the idea that my boys will grow up playing in the same place that both he and I grew up playing. Damn, I wish he'd be there to see it though.