Teeing Off

Long before 2013, my dad's balance became so unsteady that he had to stop golfing — the one activity that got him out of the house and into the world of sport he loved so much.

Teeing Off (2013)

Dad, in my mind's eye I see you there on the 18th tee

standing unsteadily

sometimes not even sure if you’re on the tee or somewhere else

(deep in left field or at centre ice

hovering uncertainly)

above the ball with its million dimples

I too will be there, tottering, just as your father was

and his father before that

all the begats of England and Scotland

back to the links course in Saint Andrews, with its wooden clubs and its whiskey on the 19th hole.

I remember how uncertain I used to be on the first tee, back in the 90s. You only encouraged me, as on the ice, the diamond, and badminton court.

I remember the pints of beer on the 19th hole with your friend Stan, who tried to tell you about the books he read, in his thin whisper of a voice. You would sit looking at him, smiling, as good as deaf, next to a bowl of peanuts, chips, and Canterbury beer.

I remember the holes in between, especially the one with the cliff on the left and the ocean beckoning the golf ball like a siren into the waves that spread out across the horizon like a million dimples.