When I was in high school and convinced I was going to become an attorney, my parents got me golf lessons. I spent a lot of time at the driving range with my basketball coach (ironic, I know) being told to keep my head down and use my follow through. I did have a pretty wicked drive by the end but never actually got to the green. Yep, that’s right, took golf lessons and never actually went golfing. (Mini golfing does not count.)

Hence, why playing 9 holes is on my list. My husband doesn’t golf…and I don’t know anyone up here that does. So going with my dad was going to be my best option. So I decided to kill two birds with one stone and set up a tee-time at Cricket Hill for Father’s Day. Evan decided to come along as well so I convinced him to take down my sad, sad clubs to wash them off and clean the mouse poop out of the bag. (Oh yeah, lessons came with parents buying me a full set of golf clubs…that my brothers and father filched from over the years.) They looked very sad next to my father and brothers’ very full sets. But they were functional, which was all that mattered. I was nervous to get started (oh yes, divots happened) but once I got into a rhythm, it all came back. I had a beautiful drive on the 6th hole and we used my ball on the 7th because it was closest to the pin.

See that bright pink ball in the foreground? See that yellow flag in the background? Oh yeah….best drive of the day. I went back to hitting divots later, but hey, it was a good run. We finished up and I made sure Evan took a picture of me at the last hole:

Conclusion: I still like golfing even if I got blisters from it and I love my dad.

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