remember that day,” he said.
“We had a lot of good times,” I said. “And look, I’m sorry about all my speeches on this trip. I really should be disqualified from talking so much. I’m going to try to stop making speeches as I grow old.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
He asked me what the highlight of the trip was for me.
“Finding your ball,” I said. “And seeing you walking those fairways. What about you?”
“Getting the car back without an accident.”
“Come on,” I said, “I had it under control.”
I listened to him laughing at this. I told him that it was good tohear him laugh; we hadn’t had a lot of laughter between us in a long time. “Things slip away,” I said. “It’s no one’s fault. They just do.”
I asked him if he remembered our days in upstate New York when I was teaching at Colgate University and we would all go sledding down the big hill on campus.
“Not really,” he said.
“I never thought those days would end. We spent all winter sledding. I used to love pulling you and your sisters up the hill. I was forty-one, forty-two maybe; I guess it made me feel strong and young, you know? And then one time you wouldn’t let me pull you up the hill. You wanted to climb up yourself. You were all bundled up in your snowsuit and boots, so you could only take these tiny steps. It took you forever to get up the hill, and I kept trying to explain how much better it would be if you just let me pull you to the top because you could save all that time for going down. But you had made up your mind. And you just marched up like a little soldier. That was when I knew.”
“Knew what?” he asked me.
“Knew that I wouldn’t have you forever,” I said. “It was that way with your sisters too. There was a moment with each of you when I realized the same thing. Part of falling in love with all of you when you were babies was believing that I would have you forever. And then there was a moment when it came clear to me that I wouldn’t. I remember telling your mother how sad it made me feel. I said, ‘He’s starting off now, on his own.’ She didn’t understand. ‘He’s only four years old,’ she said, ‘we’ll have him a lot more years.’ Something like that. But I felt it. And it’s gone so fast, I’ll tell you that, Jack. So damned fast.”
He didn’t say anything more. I had my eyes closed, and I was dreaming back that sledding hill and him in his powder-blue snowsuit.
JUNE 18, 2007
Five months have passed since Carnoustie. A former student of mine from when I was teaching at Colgate for four years in the early 1990s, Jim White, had grown up in Toledo, Ohio, and he had opened a door for Jack to work for the summer at the fabled Inverness golf club, with the goal of trying to make the University of Toledo golf team in the fall as a walk-on.
Three months after we returned from Scotland, Jack flew to Jim’s home in Columbus to begin a golf trip that few people ever get to take. They played the famous Scioto Country Club, then the world’s greatest golf course, Pine Valley, then Jack Nicklaus’s course at Muirfield Village, and then Inverness, where Nicklaus played his first U.S. Open when he was seventeen years old. The head pro there, David Graf, offered Jack a job for the summer working in the bag room.
Jim White grew up just a few miles from the course, and while they were in town, he set up a meeting for Jack with the golf coach at the University of Toledo.
“Day of Days,” Jack wrote to me in an e-mail from there. The coach couldn’t offer Jack a place on his Division I golf team, but he walked him around campus and told him if he was willing to play in some collegiate golf tournaments that summer and managed to hold his own against the Division I players, he would give him a shot.
“I’m going to do it, Daddy,” Jack said to me. “This is my chance.”
And so he applied to the University of Toledo,
“We had a lot of good times,” I said. “And look, I’m sorry about all my speeches on this trip. I really should be disqualified from talking so much. I’m going to try to stop making speeches as I grow old.”
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”
He asked me what the highlight of the trip was for me.
“Finding your ball,” I said. “And seeing you walking those fairways. What about you?”
“Getting the car back without an accident.”
“Come on,” I said, “I had it under control.”
I listened to him laughing at this. I told him that it was good tohear him laugh; we hadn’t had a lot of laughter between us in a long time. “Things slip away,” I said. “It’s no one’s fault. They just do.”
I asked him if he remembered our days in upstate New York when I was teaching at Colgate University and we would all go sledding down the big hill on campus.
“Not really,” he said.
“I never thought those days would end. We spent all winter sledding. I used to love pulling you and your sisters up the hill. I was forty-one, forty-two maybe; I guess it made me feel strong and young, you know? And then one time you wouldn’t let me pull you up the hill. You wanted to climb up yourself. You were all bundled up in your snowsuit and boots, so you could only take these tiny steps. It took you forever to get up the hill, and I kept trying to explain how much better it would be if you just let me pull you to the top because you could save all that time for going down. But you had made up your mind. And you just marched up like a little soldier. That was when I knew.”
“Knew what?” he asked me.
“Knew that I wouldn’t have you forever,” I said. “It was that way with your sisters too. There was a moment with each of you when I realized the same thing. Part of falling in love with all of you when you were babies was believing that I would have you forever. And then there was a moment when it came clear to me that I wouldn’t. I remember telling your mother how sad it made me feel. I said, ‘He’s starting off now, on his own.’ She didn’t understand. ‘He’s only four years old,’ she said, ‘we’ll have him a lot more years.’ Something like that. But I felt it. And it’s gone so fast, I’ll tell you that, Jack. So damned fast.”
He didn’t say anything more. I had my eyes closed, and I was dreaming back that sledding hill and him in his powder-blue snowsuit.
JUNE 18, 2007
Five months have passed since Carnoustie. A former student of mine from when I was teaching at Colgate for four years in the early 1990s, Jim White, had grown up in Toledo, Ohio, and he had opened a door for Jack to work for the summer at the fabled Inverness golf club, with the goal of trying to make the University of Toledo golf team in the fall as a walk-on.
Three months after we returned from Scotland, Jack flew to Jim’s home in Columbus to begin a golf trip that few people ever get to take. They played the famous Scioto Country Club, then the world’s greatest golf course, Pine Valley, then Jack Nicklaus’s course at Muirfield Village, and then Inverness, where Nicklaus played his first U.S. Open when he was seventeen years old. The head pro there, David Graf, offered Jack a job for the summer working in the bag room.
Jim White grew up just a few miles from the course, and while they were in town, he set up a meeting for Jack with the golf coach at the University of Toledo.
“Day of Days,” Jack wrote to me in an e-mail from there. The coach couldn’t offer Jack a place on his Division I golf team, but he walked him around campus and told him if he was willing to play in some collegiate golf tournaments that summer and managed to hold his own against the Division I players, he would give him a shot.
“I’m going to do it, Daddy,” Jack said to me. “This is my chance.”
And so he applied to the University of Toledo,
Similar Books
