I find myself rethinking golf

I went golfing today, for the first time this year. And I liked it. I really liked it.

I've golfed off and on for about forty years now. My original clubs, well, the woods were real wood, real persimmon. They sit in the garage of a shared family home in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, waiting their next time upon the range. There were times where golfing was about just having fun with friends, times when it allowed me two extra curling games a year; times when I was out with my dad's youngest brother, my Uncle John. Those last times I am wholly and unashamedly sentimental about. The other times, eh, I was just kinda there.

So I never took golf seriously. But now, I'm beginning to take it seriously. Seriously because I'm starting to understand the pleasure of hitting a golf ball well.

A few times today, I hit a ball well. And man did it feel good. Not like hitting a baseball good, mind you. There ain't nuthin' like hittin' a baseball. But the sharp *ting* of a well hit golf ball off a tee? Well, it challenges that.

I think I can play this game, this golf, if I should start to take it seriously enough. I realize as I say that that I'm merely being drawn into the vortex. The golf sirens are calling to me, calling me to dash my ship against the sharp rocks on their dangerous shore. I know this. I knew it when I was on the green off the tee on a lowly par 3 and legitimately parred that hole.

I know this. But damn, their call is strong. And I was on the green off the tee.