I was in Iowa this past summer for work. I had plenty of spare time before my flight so I decided to fit in a round of golf .I had recently read an article on the 100 best golf courses to play and one of the courses on the list, The Harvester, was nearby.
Unfortunately, I did not pack my clubs for this trip. I feel it’s almost too costly to fly with your golf clubs anymore, but for some reason I did have my shoes. The course was mostly vacant with only a few people playing at two o’clock in the afternoon so, armed with a set of rental clubs, I went off to play.
Admittedly, this was a treat. There are moments my job allows me to do things that I love and this was one of those moments. I mean who wouldn’t want to play a course that was not only beautiful, but also had bales of hay sitting next to the holes that reminded me of Midwestern sunsets and seemed to glow in the soft, low light. The holes had names like “Big Hog” , “The Sickle”, “Holy Cow” and my personal favorite “Serendipity” and it was a lovely course– a great facility.
I started off slow with my rented Cobra clubs. I didn’t care for the putter much and had some issues with driving. I was playing from the blue tees (I’m not up to playing this course from the longest tee) but after I was warmed up things improved. If it weren’t for an errant tee shot on #9 that left me in the mud next to the water (7 strokes — drat!) things would have been even better.
With a total of 41 strokes on the front, I made my way to the back nine. Teeing off on #10 I felt as though I had found my groove! I’ve learned from my children, when The King finds a new groove (or, in my case, an old one) good things happen!
As I rolled through the “Big Hog” I needed birdie on this last hole to break 80. I didn’t get it but still, not bad in my book for rental clubs and a guy who only plays twice a month at best. All in all, a great day.
I moseyed (Iowa term) up to the clubhouse to get me some grub. I decided to eat outside overlooking the same 18th hole where a few moments earlier elation had filled me.
While sitting on the deck enjoying a fine glass of wine I was given time to reflect. I had run a footrace a few days earlier. Only a 5k, but for the first of the season it was more than enough distance wise. The course was a simple back and forth through a neighborhood in Libertyville, IL. My time was a respectable 24:32. One mile was even below 8 min. I couldn’t have been more pleased with how I did. Being 41, one has to take these moments as they come.
I’m doing my best in this missive to not sound arrogant. I didn’t feel arrogant during any of these moments. I have been blessed in many parts of my life and I am and should be a very grateful person.
I sat on the overlook enjoying my meal and was quite overwhelmed with my life. Here I was at 41, married to a beautiful woman who I loved, children that I couldn’t be more pleased with. I had just ran the week before a sub 8 min mile and wonder of all wonders I had just shot (almost) 80 on a great golf course. Life on this day had dealt me all Aces. Filled with gratification I finished my meal, jumped in my car and drove to my hotel. I was certain that life couldn’t get any better.
I arrived home and got back to the daily grind. I have written and commented before many times about my son, Buddy. He loves to swim. Every Monday I attempt (when I am not traveling) to take him to the pool near our house to take a swimming class. The class is for people with disabilities. You get to meet, talk with and see all sorts of people living with different disabilities.
I once had a woman I was talking with tell me that Buddy had the “Cadillac” of disabilities. Her child suffered from a congenital disorder known as Aperts Syndrome. I was not aware there was a “Cadillac” of disabilities, but I agree I have been fortunate.
On this Monday just days after my exultation on the golf course, I was still hanging on to the glow of the week before. I have to admit I was filled with much pride as I watched my son swim. He splashes around in the pool while being pulled around in a fashion by another person who moves his arms and legs in the proper way to allow him to swim. His swimming, like many things in his life, has vastly improved. Currently he likes to dunk his head and he can do a pretty good doggy paddle. Like any boy his age, mostly he just likes to play.
On this day, In the shadow of my glow, I noticed a father bringing his son into the pool. His son had Cerebral Palsy. For those that are not familiar with this disability, it gets progressively worse as you get older. The really difficult thing is the mind stays intact inside a body that no longer works.
This father lifted his 11-year-old son from his wheelchair and placed him in the pool. My guess is the boy at one point could crawl. Today he could wheel himself around a little in his wheelchair. Tomorrow he will have a motorized wheelchair controlled by the touch of a gentle hand that barely moves.
I sat on my bench watching my son.
This father pulled his son from one end of the pool to the other on his . There are toys all around to play with and his son made a subtle motion with his hand towards one of the toys, a stuffed floating clown. The father carried him over and picked up the clown. The boy made another subtle motion upward. The father put the clown on his head. He had very little hair and was now wearing a clown hat.
He started carrying his son once again on his back through the water sometimes fast and other times slow. The clown finally fell off… and the boy smiled.
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It was a gentle smile, not large, not toothy. The dad then picked up the clown again and dropped it on top of his head. He pulled his son through the water and the clown fell off again. The boy’s face broke into an even larger smile. The father just stopped in the water, collected the clown and started putting it on his head and would move in such a way that it would again fall off.
The boy would smile and the father would stand there holding his son up on his back, putting the clown on his head and watching him smile. This went on for some time. The clown on the father’s head, looking down at his son, his arm and legs twisted and bent, an eternal bend. His arthritic body even at 11 had very little motion left. A few fingers supplying movements on where to put the clown and the son smiling every time it fell from his dad’s head.
After awhile the father grew tired from carrying his son around the pool and grabbed a large Styrofoam mat on which to place him. He moved his son around on the mat carrying him as though he were in a boat. The clown still on his head, he now starts motor boating his boy around the pool. The clown would fall and the son would smile and the dad would place it once again on his head.
This same scene played out over and over for the 45min swim period allotted to each swimmer.
My son’s swimming has steadily improved each week; he now dunks his head and can swim underwater. He loves the underwater parts. He may never do a crawl or a breaststroke or maybe his muscles might “get it” someday and he will. Time will tell.
I watched this father and his son and I realized this may be as good as it gets for them. His boy may always be able to smile and as long as the father can carry his son, he will be able to take him to the pool. They will always be able to share “swimming” together.
I sat on the bench looking at my son play and realized, as I looked at this father’s day and saw the enormity of his life and what already he and his son had accomplished together… in this father’s devotion he showed me… I’m not that good.
