Boudicca's Voice

Strengthening the Weakest Link

All of you know… I have a 13 year old. He’s a great kid. He is. We have our issues, but living with anyone day in and day out will give you… issues. He is growing into his own person… I am finding him to be a very complicated individual and I think that’s good. People should be complex.

I think what I’ve blogged upon most lately is that he does not speak so much. He is quiet. Quiet and funny, quiet and sullen, quiet and contemplative. Quiet is the norm. Social… with his buddies, not so much with us.

His younger brothers annoy him, sometimes rightfully so and sometimes because he’s a bit prickly.

In general, I try not to ask any questions that allow for a monosyllabic answer and in those cases, I tend just to receive a shrug.

He doesn’t like school much, is unmotivated and bored, but we’re working through it and I’m trying to find him incentives to do well. He has a couple teachers working with him. I have hope.

But what I found is… when I am on the golf course with him, he talks. He may not talk about what is going on in his life, but he talks.

He made the preliminary cuts for the school golf team which means he’d played 18 holes before and had no behavioral issues at school. He didn’t make the final cut as he is missing consistency in his stroke. That’s cool; the kids who made the cut practice a lot. He has a goal now and although obviously disappointed he’s not devastated. He thinks the kids who made the cut deserve it and that compared to them he did not. But he’s also not the worst who tried out and I think he took solace in that, even though I’m sure he was in the bottom quarter.

Throughout spring break, I would take him to the public course across the street. Depending on who was working the cash register, it was either $9 for me to chauffeur him around for 9 holes or $14. That is in total… cart fee, greens fees, everything.

The first day I showed up, I asked the Starter a ton of questions, while acting remorseful my son did not take up swimming. He said, “He can’t make any money swimming!” He took to calling me Ms. Daisy as I drove around on the cart. My son kept saying, “Mom, you’re allowed to go faster…” He gave me the tips on where I could and could not drive. We laughed a lot during that first round.

Mainly at me.

It’s cool.

The big thing is, I can never see where his ball lands. I’m near sighted but not to the point it affects my life when I don’t wear my glasses. Whereas my Mom and brother were legally blind without their glasses before they had eye surgery, that is not my case. It is just an inconvenience for me, getting worse only in the fact that squinting doesn’t cure it so much anymore.

Glasses are my friend during night driving.

But during golf, that near sighted thing is a real pain in the neck. He hits it and it vanishes into thin air. Nothing. It’s like a magic trick… “Now you see… Now you don’t.”

I was driving the cart and said, “Son, I have NO fer-ick-in’ clue where your ball went.”

His reply? “Mom, its that white orbital shaped thing right in front of you. Look. You drive, I’ll steer. See it? Now? Mom. It’s right there…”

I told him I wished we could video tape those first two holes with my getting the hang of the cart and trying to figure out this stupid game and looking for his ball. The conversations were very funny… he spent the entire time grinning.

I like that.

I said, “Dude, what in the HELL would we do if it was ME that was golfing?”

He said, “Mom, we’d get you a bright pink ball so you’d not miss it.”

I think I’d just need a BIGGER ball. Maybe beach ball sized…

He talks. He laughs. He grins. Good holes and bad. We laugh equally at good shots and bad.

Giddy me: “Holy crap! Dude! That was great!”

Him, grinning and excited: I know! Did you hear it! It was GREAT!

Or bad shot, me: Man, that sucked.

Him, grinning: That… did. Wow.

Or…

Me: Son, that’s the fifth ball you’ve hit into the water off that tee… we’re kind of wasting cash.

Him: I’m done with this tee. Go drive on the fairway, I’ll just roll it on and play from where it rolls.

Me: We can do that because… we aren’t playing anyone. It’s just you against you.

Him, contemplatively: you are right… every hole could be a hole in one, right?

Me: Son in your little world, you make the rules. They’re all holes in one…

At one hole he went to tee off and the guy in the adjacent hole teeing off, hit a bad ball. We heard a “F***!” as the guy threw his club down.

I raised my eyebrows and looked at my son. He burst out laughing. I said, “Dude, don’t ever take this game too seriously. It’s a game… have fun.”

He came over to me and said, ‘What is up with that? He’s not even playing for money…”

Me: There’s no cool mill riding on that hole and you aren’t playing for your retirement. Deep breath, have a good time. If you’re that bunched up over the game, find something else to do, because that means… you’re not having fun.

He agreed and we laughed about the ‘F*** guy’ the rest of the way he played.

Meanwhile, on the next hole we were adjacent to some guy playing the ‘yellow’ tees which is professional. He said, “Mom! I want to watch this guy! Stop here.”

So we stopped and the guy hit it and we heard the nice ‘THWACK!’ of a perfectly hit ball and then a “Gooooooong!”

I looked at my son and whispered, “What was that?”

He whispered back, “It was that big metal light post… he hit it.”

The guy shook his head grabbed a club and waved to us. I waved back and said, “I know he is bummed he hit that post, but damn, that’s pretty far away. I think that should be your new aspiration… to hit that metal light post.”

The rest of the ride, he’d hit a ball kind of far and one of us would say, “GOOOOOONNNNG” and imitate the sound of the ball hitting the post.

Let me say, I do not like golf. I’ve always struggled with categorizing it as a sport (I know, I’m going to have readers hate me for that statement… but it is what it is), but that said, I absolutely adore Tiger Woods. I think HE is a tremendous athlete, a true gentleman and a damn hard worker. He is a great role model in a time that it pisses me off when people look to sports for role models.

But golf has provided me with an opportunity for me to connect with my son. I don’t know how long it will last. I can’t give him tips. I am just now learning the terminology. I know he drives well, putts not so well, and pitches OK. I know he’s consistent, whether a par 3 or 4, he’ll hit a six. I know he always hits the ball… he connects every time.

I know he grins a lot.

I know he hates people waiting on him, as mellow as he is; he keeps an eye out to invite people to play through.

He has a great perspective.

And I have a good time.

I never saw this coming… connecting with him on a golf course. Never.

But it makes me happy and I hope… it lasts.

When he got cut a couple days ago I said, “Son, I can take you out still. Let’s shoot for next year’s team. I can still take you out once a week…”

And his reply to me... with a grin... was… “Or twice.”

I have hope.

Posted by Boudicca at April 17, 2008 08:56 PM | TrackBack